Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8578870.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo/Reigen_Arataka, Kageyama_Ritsu/Reigen_Arataka,
      Kageyama_Ritsu/Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo
  Character:
      Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo, Kageyama_Ritsu, Mezato_Ichi, Reigen_Arataka
  Additional Tags:
      fem!reigen, Teacher/Student, Femdom, ageswap, Psychic_Sex, Angst, Yuri,
      Implied_Incest, Choking, Public_Sex, Mutual_Masturbation, Unhealthy
      Emotional_Attachments, sorry_mom_sorry_god, Punishment, Alternate
      Universe_-_Gender_Changes, Humiliation, accidentally_implying_topping_or
      tops_are_real, Genderplay
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-17 Chapters: 1/? Words: 4935
****** Slow Dance ******
by sugarcaster
Summary
     Schoolgirl crushes really ought to stay in the pocket, in a locked
     heart, kept in rooms with high windows. They can knock like the wind.
Notes
     anonymous commenting is on, to allow for non-registered readers to
     request trigger/content warnings i miss. inspired by @mpslime's and
     @bile_100's fem!reigen/ageswap mob art on twitter. planned first
     chapter of at least 5. enjoy
See the end of the work for more notes
She's sitting, fortunately, mouth agape, for a couple seconds before she can
muster, “Are you joking.” It's not nearly a question. She's muttering oh my
gods and holy shits before she starts gasping and sputtering and starting to
laugh that snide little bullshit. He was not joking, though, and it's all the
sweeter for it.
Already Shigeo is backpedaling, in his paggro way, fussing with this folder and
that latch on the suitcase and deciding that no, he wasn't, he was just trying
to get a rise out of her, that's not even something he's into, he'd never want
to hear her say it, he'd never be able to live with himself, and he shouldn't
even be fucking with her in general, that Takako Reigen should try to be a
normal girl, and date high school boys or focus on her studies and not scam
terrified people out of their money, least of all using him for it, and he's
throwing his jacket over his shoulder and headed for the sliding door, ready to
leave to the hallway, the courtyard, the street outside, the train, the
apartment, an empty futon and the color of the ceiling in the pitch of night...
When he notices a tug at his sleeve, firm and not pleading, and that she's not
laughing, but she is smirking. He notices he's still got her panties in his
hand. They feel like lead.
“What, you think you're leaving? No, now you gotta take care of me,” Takako
says, leaning in to the words and his space, “Daddy.”
Shigeo barely makes it, but it's a wave of the hand and the ghost is a million
nothings. If he was a couple seconds later, he thinks, Takako wouldn't even be
alive anymore, and he wonders if she was as oblivious as ever, as the girl's
basketball team crowds around her and cheers for the conquering hero. She's
into it for a couple seconds before the inevitable rolls, and she's shooting
him the smuggest look from the throngs of too-strong admirers. He wants a life
sign and she's giving him the A-OK hand.
“Shishou, I had that handled,” Takako huffs, counting their commission as she
breaks him off a single bill and shoves a folded wad in her bra cup. “You
didn't have to step in, you know?”
Shigeo sighs. “Can you stop calling me 'shishou,' Reigen-san? It's weird.”
“Like you don't like it,” she says.
They're out for the celebratory takoyaki, and Takako is picking her teeth
clean, but Shigeo is leaden. Takako excuses herself to the restroom and Shigeo
thinks mightly of how much he'd like to be out drinking with his little
brother, or at home, deeply contemplating the intricacies of his ceiling in the
dark. She's back already, moving with silence to his bag, where she's slipped
something surreptitiously into the main pocket and clipped it shut by the time
it's all in his peripheral.
“What was that,” Shigeo asks.
“Your bonus,” she says, before bopping down to her seat again. He's afraid to
look.
“Reigen-san, I think that this arrangement has to end,” Shigeo says.
“I know, shishou, but they just don't pay enough, so I've got to keep most of
the fee for now,” Takako replies, gleam in her eye. “Once we get clear of next
month, I could even double your fee.”
“What time is it,” he asks, eyes darting for a wall clock. Takako swings her
phone out and shows him the clock. “Jesus. We-- I need to sleep.”
Shigeo groans but stops himself as they walk out the door, onto the street in
the early evening. He'd hate to seem rude to the extremely patient shopkeepers.
Takako's dropping the bill with a generous tip and saying goodbyes before
catching from behind. “The money is not my problem, Reigen-san. My problems are
that this club is not doing anything to enrich you--”
“Absolutely not true,” she says, patting her chest wad.
“And more importantly, you're the only member of the 'Extranatural
Entrepreneurship Club,' and there's only so much prostration I can do before
the administration to explain why you might need it to yourself.”
“So stop explaining.”
“What?”
“Let them shut us down, shishou. I've learned enough from you that I can keep
this going after school.”
“That's an poor idea, Reigen-san. What I can do is something I can't help. I've
always been like this, and I cannot teach anyone else how to do it.”
“Shishou, please. I've gotten very, very good at salt.”
“I can't allow you to be alone.”
Takako gasps lightly, hand over her chest. “Sensei, that's so scandalous of
you!”
Shigeo's face twists, scanning at her expression of oblivious smugness. She's
got the flash of a woman in her eyes, and the way her pale hair frames her
face. He tries hard to stay mad, not to look too much, not to notice the
plushness of her cheek and her lip. The night's deepening around them, the
florescence of overhead bulbs taking more ground, the power lines casting
stranger silhouettes above. There's enough of a chill that either of them are
starting to get flush in the face, though neither of them pays mind to the
temperature
“Do you think there's another reason you wouldn't want the club to end,
shishou,” she asks. “Do you want to be around me?”
Shigeo looks dead forward, sweat beading under his bangs. “That's not a way to
talk to your teachers, Reigen-.”
Suddenly he's feeling the shift of a body's weight onto his arm, and she's
wrapped herself in the ruffle of his shirt's forearm. “Since we're more than
student and teacher now, what do you want me to call you, shishou?”
She draws the last word like taffy, savoring every bit of the mounting stress
she can feel in the tensing muscles in his arm. She feels his sweat, his
stress, the scent of his repression. Takako drinks in all the warmth coming off
him. Every drunk salaryman passing brings a shade of terror to him, especially
when they seem to sober enough to recognize what it looks like. She's drunk on
it, for her part. Before she gets too comfortable, Shigeo tugs free.
“You should go home, Reigen. The station's nearby, and the trains will stop
running soon.”
“What if, instead, I came home with you? Would you like that, shiiiiiishooo--”
He breaks all the way away from her, clears space enough to find the heart to
admonish. “This isn't any fun for me, you know? This relationship is already
inappropriate. I'm not going to cross that line with you, Reigen-. Go home.
I'll see you in homeroom.” He can't even look her in the eye as he says it.
Shigeo girds himself and makes a brisk switch for the station and the platform
opposite the one Takako would take. She stands a while, alone in the street as
she watches him go. She puts both hands on her chest and giggles.
“Ah, I'm so bold,” she laughs, before skipping away.
Curiosity gets the better of Shigeo on the train home, and he sneaks a look
among the night's drunkards and workaholics. It catches the light and snatches
the bag closed. A pink, lacy panty and a note in school pencil that reads,
“From your favorite student <3”. He has an apartment ceiling to stare at for
the remainder of the evening.
She's floating on air as she pops off the train and onto the platform. She
brushes the hair from out of her eyes, matted by the sweat of her mood. She's
spent the whole train ride home wondering what he thinks, or if he's even seen
it yet, and Takako Reigen is bursting with shoujo-manga flowers in her mind.
She's practically skipping home, feeling new under street lights, on crooked
concrete. She's dancing little loops on the streets, half-singing old American
pop songs. Takako has borne her heart before the man she's fallen in love with,
or at least enough of it to make it clear that she's a woman now. She wants to
be his and she's done as much as she can think to do.
She moves slower as she approaches the apartment. The light's still on, which
means exactly what she thinks it does. As she ascends the stairs to the second
floor, she forces herself to think, “I'm going to take my happiness from out of
this life. It's going to be a gift of true love.” She looks at the streetlight
across from the door on the landing. Moths scramble madly, shining. She
remembers something she read, about how moths aren't attracted to bright light.
They get blinded and can't escape. Takako laughs a little before letting the
smile leave her and walks in the door.
Takako brushes past the kitchen table with the instant noodle cup and the note
from her dad about this or that bullshit excuse for why he won't be home
tonight, either. Maybe some promise to do something for the anniversary of
mom's – . She's out of her uniform and into her pajamas without a shower. She
can't guess why she'd need one, in this state, filth and all. Takako wonders
whether her shishou notices that she stole his tie, as she unspools it and lays
down, holding it above her and staring intently as though it were film. She
brings it close and smells deeply. Shishou smells like baked strawberries, or
men's bodywash, or animal sweat. Or all of them. Her hand wanders in the dark
as light seeps through from the front room.
“Shishou,” she whispers. “Like this. Kageyama-san. Shigeo.”
It's almost totally dark in the room when his phone buzzes on his desk,
clattering against the metal loud as a storm on a corrugated roof. He has to
swing his head around the office to make sure no one else is there to be
bothered by it. It's a text from his big brother that just reads “Call me”.
Ritsu is concerned; Shigeo never neglects proper punctuation. Except commas. He
never uses commas.
One more look around the room and he's hitting the phonebook.
“Nii-san, what's wrong?” Ritsu says, practically shouting.
“Hi, Ritsu,” Shigeo mumbles. “What time is it?”
“Uh.”
“Oh, the text. Yeah, ignore that,” Shigeo says, his voice perturbed but more
alert. “It was something dumb.”
“Nii-san, I'm not going to call you a liar,” Ritsu says, “but we both know
that's not true. It mattered to you. You forgot to punctuate your text.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Nii-san, please talk to me. I need to know if you're okay.”
“It's... girl trouble.”
Ritsu can feel a little sweat pop onto his brow. “Oh, um.... Shigeo, you know
I'm not going to be much help. I've got these reports to file for the morning –
this little punk wants to claim brutality on me even though he threatened me.
and I've got to prepare for a grand jury – and besides, I don't really have
this experi--”
“Please, Ritsu-chan, I need you.”
Ritsu blushes but tries composing himself. “Okay, Shigeo nii-san, how can I
help?”
The severity of his upward inflection doesn't inspire a half-awake Shigeo to
confidence, but he tries.
“So there's this gi-- woman who's spent a long time hounding me for attention,
toying with me, trying to get a rise out of me. It's attention I don't want.
But I can tell...”
“Yes?”
“It's like there's a very familiar kind of sadness in her. I feel like if I did
push her away, maybe she wouldn't have anyone at all.”
“And you don't want that for her?”
“I just don't know how much to let her in and how much to bring her in, you
know?”
“What's the worst of it?”
“Well, she's got this... nickname for me. It's not mean, it's just the way she
says it. It's scary.”
“What if you make her call you something different? When I was a rookie with
long hair, one of the older detectives made fun of the length of my hair and
called me 'Ritsuko.' I slapped him in the face and called him a coward past his
prime and he cried a little. Everyone started calling us Boke and Tsukkomi.
It's not perfect but it's an improvement.”
“Um...”
“Right, maybe not completely applicable, but you know, just throwing out ideas.
If you let her decide who you are to her like that, though... Maybe the ball
only gets hard to stop once it's rolling. She'll get to have you on strings
forever, afraid of what she might do.”
“Names? I guess it matters that much to me, doesn't it. I'll think about it.
Thank you, Ritsu. Good night.”
“I love you, nii-san.”
“Good night, Ritsu-chan.”
The call ends and Ritsu can't help but notice how severely he's blushing in the
dawning light out his office's window. He can't remember the last time he felt
so energized. Nothing could harm this, he's certain.
Shigeo reaches into his bag and his hands are shaking when he pulls them out,
balls them up and breathes in deeply. She smells like almost nothing. He tastes
them. It's like persimmons, hot and cool at once. There's a lump in his throat
and a hand below his waist.
“Reigen-san,” Shigeo grunts. “You are staying after for classroom duty.”
“Yes, sh-- sensei.” She smiles so sweetly, he thinks, you'd never know what she
really is.
“Can you help me move these desks?” Shigeo asks. Class has since been dismissed
and the room is quiet but for teacher and student cleaning the whiteboards and
sweeping the floor. The mood of last night still hangs, and little gets said.
Perfunctory asks for this or that, “hand me” so-and-so, “move” this or that.
The floor through the center of the room is clear for a final wiping.
“Reigen-san, would you mind wiping the floor so we can get out of here?” Shigeo
asks, antsiness palpable.
“Yes, shishou.”
“Sensei.”
“Hm?”
“You will call me sensei from now on.” Shigeo looks her in the eyes. Something
near her stomach twitches at the seriousness of his voice. She smirks slightly.
“Yes, sensei.” She turns in a half-pirouette and folds her towel precisely into
a fourth. She takes a sprinter's position in the angle of her body, and begins
pushing the towel when he notices that her skirt is hiked up, and that there is
nothing underneath it. He turns away immediately. Shigeo hears Takako snicker.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“Oh, I lost them. Haven't seen them since last night, sensei. Do you know what
happened?”
His face is firm when he turns to her. “Stand up. Stop playing dumb, what do
you think you're pulling?”
She bounces up and lets her skirt balloon up slightly in the process, adjusting
it down again. Shigeo is gritting his teeth. “I found this tie of yours in my
bag. Maybe I could put this on you and you could do for me.”
“Why?”
“If we can do this,” Takako says, a hitch in her voice, “maybe I can know you
meant it. Maybe you meant that you don't want to be more to me. And we can look
each other in the eye and know that we can walk away.” The smile's left her.
Takako looks back into Shigeo's eyes.
“Do you mean it?” Shigeo asks.
“There's only one way to know, isn't there, sensei?”
He thinks. “This is... improper on so many levels. If anyone learned about this
– ”
“I wouldn't tell anyone,” Takako says. No levity, no wild wit. Facts.
“But if anyone saw this, it would ruin me. And I know it would hurt you.”
She's tense. “This seems like the first time you've cared about what I want.”
“What you've wanted is something neither of us can have. You want a lover. You
want a father,” Shigeo says. Takako goes flush, and her face twists.
“How dare you fucking sa–”
“I know, Reigen-san. It was out of line. I just don't want you to string
yourself along anymore.”
She runs to her bag before he can finish his sentence and is back with the tie
by the time he's spoken. “Let's get this over with, you asshole.”
“I'm sensei, please.”
“And an asshole.”
She begins tying his neck around, and it's the dusky sun that lets him know
everything he needs to. She's quick about it, and well-experienced tying
someone else's tie; there's no hestiation in her gestures. He notices her new
eyebags, the little bit of makeup she has on. Her skin is soft, and smooth. Her
eyeliner is thin but symmetrical and precise. Her nails gleam a glittery
translucent orange, like persimmon, too thin, too ripe. Her hair is a mess. Her
face is five different faces at once. He feels guilty and responsible to all of
them.
She rips away with the job done. It's the most well-composed his tie's ever
felt. “There. Done. Give me my panties, you creep.”
“You asked me to put them on you, Reigen-san. I know where I stand now, but I
can at least do this for you.”
“Why bother?”
“Because I was callous,” Shigeo says. “You're a young girl. You think you need
me, and I haven't been firm enough with you. I shouldn't treat you like that's
your fault. I'd like to walk away, and if you'd have me, I'd like to keep being
your teacher and your friend.”
Takako's sneer softens slightly. Tears squeeze out the sides of her eyes. “I
know. I know! I just... I don't know! I thought maybe this would work! I know
I'm pathetic, sensei. I know I act up, and I cause you problems. And you're
always so nice to me. You don't fucking deserve this crap. I'm sorry. I want to
be your friend too.”
“Thank you. Could you sit down on the edge of the desk?”
Takako breathes in hard and sighs a “fine” full of teen drama, and Shigeo lets
himself smirk. All the things he feared recede from view.
She lands like a brat. “Chop, chop, sensei.” Takako grins with teeth.
Shigeo smiles back, with a little edge still to his voice. “Don't push it,
Takako-chan.”
She blushes and chuckles deep as he starts to loop her legs through the holes
of her underwear, pulling past her mismatched socks.
“Say all you want, but my dad never did this for me, not even as a baby.”
“Do you feel special right now, Takako-chan,” Shigeo jokes. “Pampered, even?”
“Shut up, oh my god. What are you trying to do here, you perv,” she says,
smiling broadly.
“So what does that make me? Your daddy?”
Takako's jaw drops with her panties. “Oh my god, are you kidding.”
“I can't do this anymore,” Shigeo practically shouts, trying to break away for
the door.
“So what, you're just gonna leave a girl without underwear! What if I get
assaulted?”
“I can't worry about that anymore,” Shigeo says, his cheeks burning. “I need to
quit this job and move far away. Goodbye forever.”
“Come back, daaaaaaddy!” Takako is shouting, throwing her whole weight into
pulling him back. “Or I'll scream bloody murder, daaaaaaaaaaaaddy!”
They both fall to the floor, Takako harder, as she takes Shigeo's weight with
the fall. She gets up, to see him up already. Floating inches above the ground.
The desks shake, the windows wobble, the ground even quivers. Takako would
break for the door but the look on Shigeo's face and the distance she'd have to
make back her down. She's moving backwards to the same desk she just sat on.
“Sit.” Shigeo's voice seems to echo inside of her mind, to come from nowhere
and all around her.
She's shaking and on the verge of tears. “Why?”
“Please.”
She complies out of fear.
“Lift your legs,” the voice whispers in a shout.
“Okay.” Her mind is running down worst case scenarios, screaming that every
decision is the wrong one. She closes her eyes and tries to cry under her
breath. She pleads with the name “sensei” when she feels familiar fabric brush
her legs and stop at her hips. The noises and the shaking and the mortal fear
stop at once. When she opens her eyes she sees him standing in front of her.
He says, dead-eyed, “I can't walk away.”
She feels but doesn't see hands grab her wrists, her shoulders, her hips and
thighs. Hands are all over her, touching and gripping and groping, feeling one
rough hand snake around her thin throat and start to apply pressure. She's
gasping, trying to focus on breathing and not the hand manipulating the virgin
skin of her inner thighs.
“SENSEI, STOP!”
His eyes roll backward and he collapses. Takako falls to the ground, jarred but
unharmed and rushing to Shigeo's side. He breaths like a baby with an illness.
“Why are you like this, Takako?” he asks, between gulps of air. “I try so hard
to fight what I can't help in me. Why did you make me like this?”
She hugs him on the ground. “I can't walk away either. You're all I've got.”
Neither is sure who kisses first but they both try to kiss the most. She can
tell the way he tries to give too much tongue too early that he doesn't know
what he's doing.
She holds his face. “Sensei, like this.” She pulls him into her face, brushing
lip to lip, feeling each other's plushness and warmth, and planting long, low
little kisses on the lip, never moving too far back. He follows her rhythm.
When he feels her tongue, gently, he gently responds. They try to feel every
bit of each other in this small circle, though Takako's mostly just surprised
how readily he got it. She presses her body weight into him, lets him feel more
of her body resting upon him. He wraps her up in his arms and she's surprised
all over again how warm he feels, how strong his thin arms are. She presses her
breasts against his, her legs over one of his.
He breaks the kiss first. “Takako,” he whispers.
“Daddy,” she replies.
His sighs of “goddammit” break like waves as she rolls him onto his back and
leaps to straddle his lap.
“I'm almost done,” she smiles, leaning down to kiss and bite his neck and start
unbuttoning his shirt. He's gasping her name and she's breathing laughs down
his collar bone as she undresses him with her teeth. She feels a hand petting
her blonde hair, and one pleading at the collar of her uniform, and one on her
backside, sliding into her underwear.
“Sensei?”
“I swear I'll be kind this time.”
“You're on notice until I come.”
He sits up and starts unbuttoning her blouse, starting to see her freckled
shoulders and chest, matching her cheeks, now flushed and sweating and still
smirking. He's balancing her light body on his lap and dutifully buttoning her
down, looking down just to avoid her gaze.
“Sensei, please. Look at me.” Her eyes are hazy fire.
“Takako,” he hums into her neck as he wraps fingers around the side and rubs
gently with his soft thumb, “please call me Shigeo.”
“Holy shit,” Takako whispers between little groans and moans.
She feels him get hard underneath her, and determines to torture him within an
inch of his life. Two more hands are already sliding her bra straps down when
she says, “Shigeo, lay down.”
He pulls his hands away and lays back. She finishes pulling off her bra
herself, uncovering high, tender breasts, in partial pink flush. She looks at
Shigeo like a meal, or her jubilee year.
“I wanted you so much when I walked in this room, and it scared me how it
almost happened,” Takako sighs as she moves her way up his chest, soft hands on
his flesh assisting the manuever, and positioning her crotch over his face, his
view blocked by her skirt. “Please, Shigeo.”
He smells her, deeply, until she gets embarrassed enough to say something, but
Shigeo only says, “You remind me of something I miss down here, I'm not sure
what though.” When the first tongue stroke comes, it hits her like lightning
and she screams a little. Shigeo slips his head out from under her skirt.
“Oh my god, Takako, did I hurt you?”
“I love you,” she hums. “I am in love with you.”
He dips back in, continuing to lick her. She's never felt anything like this,
like him. She wants to convulse, and sing Etta James, and pull his hair till
this is the only thing he ever wants to do again. Shigeo's cheeks are so warm
against her thighs, and she wants to squeeze his face till it stays like this.
She feels held, and touched, and fucked all at once, before she notices more
phantom hands on her hips, pushing her down, making the feeling stronger and
wilder and maybe even too much, but she's not so lost in the moment that she
can't torture him a little more.
Pushing past her little subverbal moans, Takako says, “Jerk yourself off. I
want to watch you come for me, Shigeo.”
“Yes, Takako,” Shigeo replies with a mouth so full of her he's practically
saying it into her.
Shigeo, in his perspective, is stewing with his certainty that this is why he's
going to hell, and a nose so full of the smell of her crotch and her butt that
he is delirious. Blind under her skirt, she lifts herself and turns so that her
ass digs around his nose and her crotch still traces his lips through her
panties. He smells deep; she's like nothing but salt and caramel. He's blind
unbuckling himself, but as he unzips his pants, she giggles at his clumsiness
and leans forward.
“You aren't really big, are you, Shigeo?”
“Don't make fun, you're a child.”
“No, exactly, I like it! It'll fit,” she sneers. “Oops, it just twitched! Are
you maybe a little masochistic, Shige-chan?”
He'd sigh if she didn't immediately sit back down on his face. She grinds
against him as he starts to manipulate himself, and Takako is staring intently,
trying to focus and not come. She was teasing; he's average, and maybe even a
little over, but she knew he wouldn't know that. Then she thinks about what
it'd be like to take the whole thing in her mouth and watch him come down her
throat, and as if on cue, a phantom something taps at her slack lip as she's
moaning. She kisses its tip before it turns to licking, and suckling, which
only urges Shigeo's real hand on himself harder. Takako suckles in rhythm to
his tongue, his hand and listens to him grunt and groan through her muffling
fabric. She touches her own chest, feeling herself, forming little “ooh”s and
“nhn”s from somewhere in the back of her throat. The noises aren't nearly
restrained, and the hard angles slap the echoes back and forth across walls.
Something in the back of Shigeo's mind assures him that someone is listening,
that his brother and mother and father and everyone who ever believed in him
are sure to crash through the sliding door of the room.
“Shigeo, you're getting harder,” Takako moans.
He welcomes hell. He can't wait to fall with her hand in his.
Her voice picks up higher and her breath more rough, and he stops licking her
long enough that she shakes her hips toward his face, only to dig back in and
feel her thighs latch around his cheeks as she comes. Her voice is a gyre of
rose petals. He can feel his own hips bucking and surging, and still blind to
the world he groans out and feels the shockwave rip through him.
“Oh my god, Shigeo. Boys are so cute when they come.”
“Don't talk to me for like... one minute.”
She gently shifts her upper thighs from over him, and he tics like a limb
losing a cast. His face is drenched; sweat, saliva, her. She's already pulling
herself over to his crotch and licking him clean. He flinches and begs her not
to, but she's done quick enough, no funny stuff, and she tugs herself up to his
chest to cuddle into him. He's so broad shouldered, his face so boyish that
she's not sure they're the same species until she sees the mess she left on
him. His hand spans almost the whole small of her back; she's content to have
him for once.
For a while they just lay in a pile, bodies and warmth against each other,
little unerotic grabs at flesh here and there, as if either is trying to verify
this moment is real, for very mixed reasons. Takako is borderline purring;
Shigeo is grunting. He starts to lift her off him and sit up.
“I'm so sorry, Takako.”
“Don't be, I've wanted this, you, so badly. Thank you, Shigeo.”
“No, I mean – this can't happen. Ever again.”
She frowns. “Give us a chance. I meant it, I don't have anything to look
forward to but you. I see how the other kids look at me, how the teachers see
me. But when people look at us, together, even with foul looks? I feel
invincible. I want them all to see us.”
Shigeo starts to respond before the door shuffles open and a camera click
indicts this whole world, and a few words sending it tumbling.
“Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me.”
End Notes
     follow-up soon as i can! thx for reading to the end, love u :*
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