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This bathroom sucks. It’s so cramped that there’s barely room to stand between the stall and the sink and whoever built it had the audacity to put two of each, like it would ever be possible to pack two people inside here at once. The lighting is so dim and the mirror is so dirty that there’s hardly anything to be seen in the glass.
Unfortunately, it’ll have to do. Ken fluffs her short hair and reapplies her lip gloss carefully, squinting like that might help her reflection come into focus. She still doesn’t have much practice or confidence with putting on any kind of feminine makeup look. She hasn’t even gathered the courage to wear mascara at school yet. Still, in the low light of this claustrophobic little room, she thinks she looks pretty cute.
It’s a shame the last bar she frequented caught on to her. That place had much nicer bathrooms to finish getting ready in.
It’s way seedier here in general, though that’s probably to her benefit. Any place this sketchy has way bigger problems than bothering to check IDs at the door. Really, she’s just grateful she didn’t get the cops called on her at the last bar. It was those bartenders that taught her the merits of batting her lashes and playing nice with any man that crosses her path no matter how much they annoy her, and she’s lucky they’d grown a soft spot for her.
Finally satisfied with her appearance, Ken crams her makeup into a tiny purse that can barely hold her phone, smooths her skirt, and heads back out to assume her purposefully lonely perch.
This new bar bustles on a Saturday night, low ceiling filling it with the noisy buzz of people drunkenly chatting. It’s a big change of pace from the last place—though that still isn’t saying much, considering how tiny the island really is.
Ken nabs a seat that’s secluded enough against the wall, gaining her a nice safe space to quietly people-watch and feel out the crowd. The drink she orders ends up weak and too sweet. It serves its purpose of a prop just fine. She can’t get used to the stinging alcohol taste anyway, and she never lets herself get anything past tipsy. Men can’t tell the difference so long as she laughs at their jokes and acts pliant enough.
She’s only halfway through the syrupy little cocktail when a shark bites at the bait.
“All by yourself in a place like this?”
A man looms in the corners of her vision—glasses, greying at the temples, hair slicked to the side. Probably forties. Not all that different from the lonely older salarymen she ended up spending time with at her usual spot.
“It’s my first time here,” she smiles and coyly tucks her hair behind her ears. Her earrings are a new addition to the look, little gemstone studs, but men never really notice that kind of thing. She thinks it makes her read as more mature.
“A pretty young thing like you should be careful out here.”
Nothing she hasn’t heard before. At the end of the day, these types are all the same, and she appreciates the consistency in it. When she’s seeking out something so specific, when she needs to just let go and forget for a while, she can shake off that needling condescension they always shoot her way.
“I’m okay. I know what I’m looking for.” A not so subtle once-over is all it takes to get a man like this wrapped around her finger.
He leans in close and she knows he’s been hooked. “Let me buy you a drink and I’ll introduce you to my buddies over there.”
Buddies is a new variable, one she’s never faced before, but something about the place has her itching to get on with the night already. If she can play her cards right she might even be able to have her pick of the least annoying and talkative one there.
She nods and lets herself be led over to a corner table with two similarly slimy men huddled around nursing drinks of their own. They perk up with lazy grins when they see Ken led by the man, like they’re almost amused that their friend actually talked to her.
The men introduce themselves and the names go in one ear and out the other as she settles in. They leer, towering over her even with heels on. As much as it sets her on edge to feel cornered and outnumbered, there’s always something comforting in not sticking out like a sore thumb being taller and more gangly than every girl in her class.
It’s easy. Easier than she thought, at least. The men try to joke and play off each other and flirt and Ken just has to laugh and nod and take the compliments as she drinks.
One of them is louder than the other two, tries too hard when he cracks jokes and waits for Ken’s smiles. He keeps calling her sweetheart and honey. It’s desperate and obnoxious.
The third one stays more quiet, thankfully, but he’s touchy. It wasn’t long before he sidled up to her, reaching a hand up her short skirt to cop a feel and coming to rest at her hip.
It’s too familiar for her liking, but he’s the youngest and least unattractive of the bunch. She only should have to stomach the empty small talk for a little longer before she can whisper “want to go somewhere more private?” and then they’ll be free to go outside, maybe an alleyway, or maybe he’ll be nice enough to invite her back to his place and either way she can finally get what she—
“How old did you say you were again?” the man who bought her a drink asks.
“Eighteen,” Ken lies. “I’m graduating soon.”
It’s rehearsed; she knows the limits she can push, and that it would be ridiculous to convince anyone that she’s legal drinking age right now. Even if they don’t ever really believe the lie, they’re willing to buy it for a night. These types are into the risk.
“You were too eager to wait for twenty? That’s cute.” The man feeling her up grins and digs his fingers into her hip. It works every time.
“That’s why you’re so shy, huh? You gotta play hard to get right now,” the annoying one smiles. Drink-buyer rolls his eyes.
“I don’t think she’s all that shy,” the handsy one smiles and cops another feel under the table.
“You just don’t have game,” drink-buyer jabs at the annoying one before turning back to Ken. “So you're graduating soon? I’ll buy you one more for the special occasion.”
Two is her typical limit, but the drinks are weak and there’s hardly a buzz of anything in her veins so she agrees. As he saunters off the obnoxious one stage-whispers, “that’s more than he ever offers other girls, y’know.”
“I’m honored,” she smiles stiffly. Something starts to ring alarm bells as the man walks away, muffled through the crowd jitters and the low rumble of music—probably just the unfamiliar environment, or the fact that being faced with three men is unusual, or that she’s breaking her self-imposed rules—but he’s back before she can decide if excusing herself is the answer, sliding a third bubbly drink into her hands.
She’s…unsettled. Itchy. The drink is fine and the chat is still just idle nothingness to kill time while the men get drunker. But still, something feels off and Ken’s mind kicks into overdrive, eager to get the hell out of here with one of these men and just do what her body is demanding of her so bad already.
She downs the drink in her impatient state, ready to lean into the touchy guy’s ear and ask if he wants to slip away. The drink-buyer eyes her empty glass as soon as it clinks onto the table, looking up at her with a glint in his eye.
“It’s getting pretty busy in here. What do you say we head back to my place for more drinks in some privacy?”
It’s an out. It’s what she wanted. Surely getting out of this shitty bar will calm her nerves. She grabs her purse and they start to leave and Ken’s stomach lurches when she realizes he meant all of them, not just the pair. She wants to protest, smooth talk her way out, but all the words feel wrong on her tongue. Instead she tells herself it’ll be good to branch out from the same old script.
It’s chilly tonight, the breeze kicking up the back of her miniskirt as they walk down the street. Ken lets herself stumble a little on the way out so that there’s an excuse to take the touchy guy’s arm, sticking close as this trio of men round a few corners into a side of town she tends to avoid.
The teenagers and twenty-somethings hang out under the bridge down the street over there. Shinjiro—it sends shivers down her spine to even think his name sometimes—was the one who introduced the spot to her, and the reason why she feels like she can never return. It reminds her of too much, and the people there could know her face, his name. It’s never been drugs or alcohol she’s specifically seeking out, anyway. Better to leave the past completely behind her.
The three idiots are laughing and hollering at some nonsense by the time they’re inside the apartment. Ken settles into the couch sandwiched between two of them while the other grabs beers from his fridge. It’s a nice enough place, cleaner than some she’s been to. She can never get over the fact that grown men don’t seem to change from how messy they live when they’re teenagers.
She’s still all too shaky, almost dizzy with nerves from how far they’ve veered off course.
This would be when she gets down to business usually, leaving no more room for awkward pleasantries and small talk. She lays down her rules strictly, though over time she’s learned to be tactful in how she presents them to men—clothes stay on, no groping between the legs, use her mouth and let her leave after. It’s safest that way. She can get what she wants without leaving room to be hurt.
There’s no opportunity for that yet, no lull in conversation. She knows she needs to devise a plan but every idea seems to escape her, drifting farther and farther away the more she grasps at it.
She’s just tired, probably. She lets herself float on the noisy sound of the men’s voices blurring into nonsense background noise for a moment, just a quick second to gather her thoughts again.
A hand clapped onto her shoulder startles Ken back to the present. All three of the men are looking at her expectantly, amused little half-smiles across their faces.
“...What was that?” Ken asks sheepishly, face hot and embarrassed that she must’ve missed a question directed her way.
“I asked if you were okay,” drink-buyer smirks, and the other two laugh. They all think they’re so funny and Ken hasn’t been in on a stupid joke of theirs all night.
“Yeah!” Ken answers too brightly. She sits up and tries to nod, head spinning as soon as she moves. “Yeah, I’m…”
That alcohol went straight to her head. Her stomach twists at the thought that she pushed herself past her limits tonight. But there’s still a way to back out smoothly, to politely excuse herself from the mess she’s found herself in. She’s always been able to figure it out—she’s resilient, quick on her feet, a fast thinker. She’s been through worse. She…
She tries to stand but her knees wobble, give out, and then she’s toppling back onto the couch with a tragic thump.
The men really laugh this time, belly laugh, and it’s beginning to sound like a pack of hyenas.
“Going somewhere so soon, honey?”
“I thought you were gonna stay a while.”
“I paid for two drinks, didn't I? You’re so ungrateful.”
Ken shakes her head. “I don’t…”
She’s fast. She’s smart. She’s faced far worse. So why is she so tongue tied? Why is the world spinning, nauseatingly fast, but they’re all speaking in slow motion and they’re so loud and so close and she feels so hot.
Panic sets in, but her body is going numb. Her limbs are tied down by bricks. She might as well be sinking straight to the bottom of the ocean.
“Fuck, man, you might’ve overdid it this time.”
It’s hard to distinguish who’s talking anymore. All their voices start to blend into one awful mass, one three-headed monster that has her backed into a corner.
“No, no. She’s good.” There's a hand knotting in her hair, yanking her head up. She didn’t even realize she was tipped so far forward. “You’re good, aren’t you, baby?”
Every inch of her body screams to disagree, fight back, find a way out. But instead her vision swims and her stomach churns as it threatens to throw up dinner and three drinks and…whatever else got snuck into her system. She can’t make herself move at all.
He gives her cheek a condescending pat and lets her head droop back down. “This is all she wanted all night, anyway.”
As if that was the signal to move, they suddenly descend upon her—hands creeping up her thighs, beneath her shirt, gripping her waist.
Clothes stay on.
Her top is unceremoniously ripped off and tossed to the side, and someone in the crowd jeers. Distantly, the practical part of her is grateful she didn’t pad her bra tonight, and baby fat can pass as measly A cups instead of tipping them off even faster.
One of them grabs at her arm now that it’s exposed, pulling it close to his face to inspect before gesturing to his buddies to take a look.
“I always like the suicidal sluts the best. Got nothing to lose, right?”
They all think that one is hilarious.
He presses his thumb into a fresher cut on her forearm and it stings. Ken deliriously imagines herself like a disgusting bruised piece of fruit that will cave under the pressure of it.
They lose interest quickly and flock to her skirt instead, manhandling her and tugging until she feels it come off her hips. She braces herself for the inevitable, chanting no stop please no in her head like that might stop it.
No groping between the legs.
“You lying bitch.”
She’s exposed, shamefully and completely, cock visible in her lace panties like some kind of perverted spectacle. Their eyes bore into her like drills.
Ken musters the last of her strength to thrash and kick but it’s like moving underwater—maybe even more viscous, something honeyed and thick that will trap her here forever, and strong hands are pinning her in place against the couch before she can even process it.
“Desperate faggot,” one of them spits. She’s being pulled, or pushed, she can’t tell but her knees hit the ground and the impact rattles through her bones like an earthquake. “Nobody wanted to fuck you any other way, is that it?”
“What a waste of a night.”
“Guess we should just dump him for someone else to find.”
There’s a sense of relief at that, for a moment, even if she knows it’s stupid. At least she would be out of here. They can dump her body on the sidewalks where she planned to die in the first place.
“He still has a mouth.”
Fat fingers shove between her lips like she’s a prize animal for show. “That’s what you were after, wasn’t it, you little cocksucker? Want attention that bad?”
Only use her mouth and let her—
Big hands dwarf her face and feed it to her inch by insulting inch. When it feels like he’s bottomed out there's hands yanking at her hair, forcing her head back, forcing her to open up for him until it’s all in.
“Like he was made for it.”
She’s so full, too full. She can’t breathe. She’s crying, she notices remotely. It feels like she could drown in it.
“Got a lot of practice, I’m sure.”
The words hardly register to Ken. If the men weren’t propping her up like shabby tent poles she’d be collapsed on the floor, completely boneless. Instead she’s made to move back and forth on the cock in her mouth, puppeted by someone’s hands in her hair and too slack-jawed to even gulp back her drool.
Someone else takes her arm and guides it up, big hand enveloping hers and wrapping it around another cock. She hardly has the strength to grip it but it doesn’t seem to matter to whoever it is, his groans echoing loudly in her ears.
The first load is salty on her tongue, stinging like she’s swallowed pool water at the back of her throat. Her throat doesn’t want to move enough to cough it back up so she ends up sputtering, dribbling.
She slumps forward in a terrible vertigo, stupidly thinking it could be over until it happens again. Hands in her hair. Cock forced in her mouth. This one sets a more brutal pace than the last, abusing her mouth as he relentlessly bucks forward.
Rough isn’t bad. She’s used to rough. She likes it rough. She wouldn’t be in this situation if her needy body didn’t crave the careless handling, to be told she’s pretty and then be treated like an object, to not have to think about her life or her friends or anything else for a few blissful minutes.
But this disgusting push and pull has her motion sick, has her crumpled like a piece of garbage, has her ashamed. It reminds her that she’s as stupid and naive as everyone’s insisted, that she didn’t ever deserve to survive over anyone else. Someone that deserves to live wouldn’t fall for such an obvious trap. They wouldn’t put themselves here in the first place.
“Stupid whore, you’re getting off on this.”
“He’s so eager. Maybe we did luck out.”
Ken didn’t realize it, she thought she couldn’t feel at all, but he’s right. She’s hard, aching, and she hates every second of it. She’d sob if it wasn’t for the drugs coursing through her veins. Her traitorous body is lying—it’s just automatic, all of this is, she’s trained herself into a routine that’s betrayed her completely now.
There’s no way to argue or fight back. Comply and it’ll be over faster. They’ll let her go faster. And then she’ll…
She’ll find a way. She always has.
Another load on her face. In her mouth. More tears well up and stream down her face, as if she wasn’t humiliated enough already.
The rhythm of their motion blurs into one awful cacophony, surrounded by voices without language and shapes without meaning. No more control, no more compliments or attention or thrill in breaking the rules. She’s being torn apart at the seams, and she’s helpless to stop it.
When it finally ends it’s sudden, like car tires screeching to a halt—like seeing someone’s life blink out in seconds right before your eyes. Ken teeters forward, unable to stop the momentum, toppling face first into the cool leather of the dingy couch.
Something bubbles to the surface in her body as she lays there. Bile in her mouth, fresh panic in her chest despite how heavy her body feels. She struggles to raise her head in an effort to escape it but it comes on faster, stronger, world tilting on an axis.
It escapes her in miserable seconds, her measly meals and sugary drinks wrenched from her gut all over the couch, the floor, probably herself.
The men’s voices get louder, angry. She can’t understand a word of the Japanese anymore. They start to move her again but it feels dreamlike, slow and smooth as the alien words surrounding her start to fade in and out.
Deliriously, Ken thinks she’ll jolt awake and realize this was a nightmare any second now.
—
It’s too bright. Ken’s head pounds as soon as she cracks her eyes open.
Sunlight warms her skin as it streams through the window, way too strong for it to still be morning. Reflexively Ken shuffles to yank her curtain shut but her hand fumbles, grasping at nothing.
The realization hits her like a train—this isn’t her bed or her room. She shoots straight up and immediately regrets it, head throbbing and saliva filling her mouth like she’s about to throw up.
And she did throw up—last night, all over herself and—and those guys, and she—
She can’t pick apart any of it. There’s only snapshots and then a fade to black like a cheap movie and shit, those bastards drugged her, she’s an idiot and now she’s ended up somewhere completely unfamiliar to her. The cynical part of her thinks it would’ve been easier for them to just kill her, but she’s cursed to survive again.
Ken breathes slow and deep, fights through the nausea, and starts to take stock.
The view outside is still Port Island, thankfully. She can see the bridge a few blocks down, so not too far from where she started last night. She’s in an oversized men’s shirt and shorts, grey and black. She tries not to shudder at the idea that someone undressed and redressed her, even if her mess required it. Barely anything on the walls indicates who this room could belong to. It’s clearly lived in, mess piling up in the corners, but indistinct.
Her purse is on the floor like it was lazily tossed to the side of the bed. Delicately she retrieves her cell phone out of the bag, relieved to see it’s barely hanging on. The clock on it blinks to read 3PM, Sunday. There’s enough battery to call a cab, so long as she can make it outside in one piece.
The door to this room is half-ajar so she creeps towards it slowly, trying to get a glimpse of the layout at the very least. It’s just as bright in there and looking at it makes her eyes strain, whole body begging to be horizontal and asleep again. She sways, catching herself on the doorframe.
Footsteps, a stocky frame shuffling past. Ken knows she isn’t in any fit state for a confrontation like this. The tiny knife stashed inside her purse can only get her so far.
The steps creak closer and her heart goes off jackrabbit fast. Against her best judgment she backs up towards the bed, stupid animal instincts telling her to play dead if it means surviving another minute here. The door swings open and she’s frozen in place.
“Good, you’re awake.”
It takes a minute for Ken to register that what she’s seeing is real. “...Sanada-senpai?”
He’s dressed in pajamas too, hair mussed and rings around his eyes like he could use a good sleep. He offers the glass of water he’s holding to Ken with a sheepish shrug, like he’s somehow embarrassed to be caught. She accepts it but doesn’t drink.
“Sorry we’re meeting up like this,” he says awkwardly.
They’ve only talked to each other a few times since Akihiko moved back to the area, and it’s never been about anything substantial, meetings short and tense.
The stubborn part of Ken resents him for being able to leave and do something with his life while she’s stuck tending to a haunted house. The immature part can’t get over that old kid crush—her heart still flutters every time he directs that dopey smile at her, her stomach does backflips every time he looks at her with such intensity he could stare right through her. He still plagues her dreams, more than anyone else from her past.
She can’t admit any of that to Akihiko as the reason why she can’t really stand to be around him anymore.
Ken chews on her lip, stuck wondering how much vulnerability she’s really willing to show with what she asks next. Akihiko has always been one to worry too much and she can’t risk aggravating that. “How did I…end up here?”
His brow creases. “You don’t remember?”
No matter how much she tries, she can’t recall anything between the hazy blur of the man’s apartment and the harsh brightness of this one. She can’t even be relieved by the fact that she ended up somewhere safe when that gap in her memory keeps taunting her.
Ken shamefully shakes her head no, eyes trained to the floor.
Akihiko sighs and gestures to his bed. Ken’s body was protesting against continuing to stand, anyway, so she takes the seat.
She’s anxious to hear but Akihiko makes her wait. He rambles about nothing like he always does when he’s nervous, fussing around until he finds plain crackers to offer Ken. She chokes them back with the glass of water until he finally seems satisfied. Begrudgingly, it makes her feel less on the verge of throwing up or passing out again.
When Akihiko finally settles it’s on the opposite end of the bed, both too close and too far. He’s finally gone quiet but he won’t stop staring at Ken like she’s a trapped animal, a pitiful scared one he scooped off the street because he felt sorry for it.
And as much as she hates the pity, she has to admit that at one point in her life this is all she ever wanted—his beautiful, dedicated, undivided attention. Even now her stomach flutters with excited butterflies when she notices how hard he’s staring. Her instincts tell her to leave now and avoid this whole mess but the selfish part of her wants to stay, bask in it.
Eventually she’s rewarded for waiting when Akihiko takes a deep breath and starts talking again, carefully evening his tone. “You called me, like, five times last night. Some time around one in the morning.”
“I’m sorry,” Ken replies automatically, and she hates how much she still sounds eleven years old in it.
“No, it’s okay, I—” Akihiko frowns. Ken always thought he looked cute concentrating, but every word is painful now. “I can hardly stay asleep, anyway. It was just a surprise. I didn’t mind going out late.”
“So I told you where I was?”
“Yeah, you said you wanted to go home and you were talking about the bridge, and when I wasn’t understanding you told me you were out where he used to hang out, and…”
“And?” She’s numb now, except for the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over.
“Well, I came as fast as I could. You were half-asleep on the sidewalk but I managed to get you back here in one piece.”
“Right.” Ken clears her throat and tries to stop the wobble in her voice. “I’m really sorry for causing you trouble. I’ll be able to get home from here just fine.”
“Ken, wait—”
She almost makes it to the doorway with her purse clutched tightly to her chest before Akihiko grabs her by the elbow, reeling her back. Reflexively Ken backs against the wall, heart beating too fast from the contact, feeling cornered and tiny even as she knows she’s taller now. When Akihiko lets go he looks surprised that he’d even touched her.
“I haven’t finished cleaning your clothes yet. And, um.” He lowers his voice like he’s sharing a secret, like he’s talking down to a child about to have a tantrum. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you were really a mess last night. I think you should stay longer, rest a little more.”
She doesn’t want to think about how much of a mess she was—she can still taste the sour aftershock of vomit in her teeth if she focuses on it. She doesn’t want to consider what Akihiko could’ve seen.
It’s all so embarrassing, and he’s so nice about it. Too nice, for how much of a fuck-up Ken has become. Forever the golden boy. She almost wishes he had the guts to properly chew her out instead of baby her with this patronizing concern. More than anything, she wishes she hadn’t turned to such a humiliating way to ask for help last night.
“I’m fine now. Thanks for your concern,” she says stiffly.
“Ken,” Akihiko scolds, and she’s immediately set on edge feeling like a powerless child next to him. “What happened?”
“It’s stupid, really.” She’s collapsing inward, shrinking back against the wall. Where Akihiko grabbed her elbow feels hot, like she’s been branded there.
“Why were you out alone so late? Drunk, and there of all places?”
He’s doing that boneheaded thing he does, what he did to Shinjiro too—where he’s convinced he can fix it all himself if only everyone would trust him to do so, but he can’t. There’s no possible way Ken could tell him what she was doing, anyway.
What is there to say?
I’m a freak otherwise, but to those scumbags I’m special.
Everyone needs a way to get their mind off things, right?
I spent so long chasing after you and him, that now all I can do is—
“I just made a mistake. I shouldn’t have called and made you worry.”
“No, I—” Akihiko flushes. He does that when he’s mad. Ken is a little proud to be getting under his skin like this. “I’m happy to help. I want you to be able to rely on me. Just tell me what you were doing.”
Something rubber-band snaps and she’s done being timid, everything boiling over at once as Ken crosses her arms and says, “You wouldn’t like what you’d hear, okay? I don’t want another lecture from you right now.”
“As if I haven’t heard that one before,” he snorts sarcastically.
“Yeah. Shouldn’t you be better at this by now?” She’s beyond just irritating him, she’s pushing, trying to see if she can shove him across an edge. “Or was saving someone messed up and blacked out only ever just a little fantasy of yours?”
“Don’t go there.” It’s low, threatening, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
This isn’t a side Ken ever got to experience firsthand. It’s thrilling. She wants to see more of it.
“Hit me,” she eggs on. Akihiko’s face turns redder but he refuses to move, shaking his head no. “I can tell you want to. Just do it.”
“Stop that.”
Fine. All she wants is that release of tension, that perfectly empty feeling that comes with putting everything in the hands of someone else. If Akihiko won’t give it to her this way, she knows she can take it another.
Ken leans forward and kisses him. He’s predictable and she’s practiced—lean in, wrap her arms around his neck, and he’s putty in her grasp. His hands come up like a surrender and she pulls him closer, kisses him like she’s starved for it until that comfortable haze where she can only focus on the collision of their lips finally settles over her mind.
When they pull back for air Akihiko is blushing to his ears, looking at her wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights. He’s cute like this, lips wet and pink in a way that makes her want to kiss him all night.
His brow creases when he tries to protest, “What are you… We shouldn’t…” before Ken shuts him up again.
He activates this time, returning it with the bruising enthusiasm she’s been seeking. Akihiko grabs her by the waist and she knots fingers into his short hair and they tangle together, finally falling into that rhythm that lets her feel blissfully brainless for a little bit.
They end up back on the bed, Ken pulling Akihiko by the shirt to land on top of her. He fizzles quickly, slowing to a stop while Ken is still reeling from the momentum.
Akihiko frowns like he’s going to argue again. Ken braces herself for the last thing she wants to hear right now, already preparing for how she’d have to shamefully apologize that she misjudged and never face him again.
“You’re so different now,” Akihiko says dumbly.
Ken has to hold herself back from laughing with how obvious a statement it is.
“I don’t want to think about that,” she says, about just about everything, and reels him back in.
It’s almost sickening how automatically she slips back into the same role she’s used to. Ken’s hands go to Akihiko’s waistband, pulling down his pants, slipping a small hand inside his boxers. She curls her fingers to find the nub of his clit and his breath hitches, hips pushing into it.
It’s like any other man she’s done this with—work him up, break him down, and she can stay within her armor the whole time. It’s safe like this. She has power. Even when she’s sweetly asking a man to treat her like a piece of meat, she still controls how both of their nights will go. It was easy to become dependent on the feeling.
Frustratingly, Akihiko is different from the rest of them. He knows her too well. They share too much history. And maybe that’s why Ken is having trouble regaining her footing, unable to completely wear that mask of confidence and allure and indifference when her heart is childishly pounding in front of her schoolgirl crush.
Akihiko goes and ruins the illusion of routine completely, stopping Ken’s movement by grabbing her wrist and saying, “Let me touch you, too.”
Something clutches her heart, twisting it in her chest. “Not yet,” she replies, way too coyly—and what does that mean? She’s never even thought about making a promise like that before.
Ken tries to pull away, looking to sink to her knees and swallow him whole like she normally would but Akihiko doesn’t relent with his grip. He pins her hands above her head in one swift and strong movement, brow furrowed like he’s focused on a task and just needed to get them out of the way.
Akihiko is safe. He would never hurt her. He wouldn’t—
Repeating that reassurance doesn’t stop Ken’s heart from pounding, every rational thought leaving her mind all at once. Akihiko’s other hand ends up in her pants, pawing at her until she’s half-hard.
Her vision tunnels. Her awareness narrows down to how she can’t move her hands, how he’s so much stronger than her, how she can’t bring herself to speak, she can’t can’t can’t—
“Sorry,” Akihiko exhales, releasing her, and the abrupt change feels like she’s careening off a cliff. “I got carried away there.”
It’s like being choked, that restriction until everything is hazy and dark and then the flood of the world too bright and loud coming back all at once.
“It’s okay,” she lies. She wishes he’d pick up on it.
His hand wraps into a loose fist around her cock and it feels wrong, too hot, too much sensation all at once. Ken winces as her hips push into it anyway. These kinds of touches are too soft for who she is now, too gentle. At one point in her life it’s all she wanted, but now she can’t enjoy the attention when she knows she doesn’t deserve it.
Even as the room is spinning, Ken regains enough control of her body to get her fingers around the hard nub of Akihiko’s clit again. It doesn’t take long for him to start bucking into the touch, torn between Ken’s pleasure and his own.
They kiss and she’s drowning in it, consumed by his insistent tongue in her mouth and his calloused hand on her and the ghost of his strength pushing her down. Her heart is still beating like it was last night, that familiar thump-thump going off in her chest. There’s no excuse for why she can’t make herself pull away this time.
Akihiko pants, clinging to her and rutting into her hand desperately.
“Ken,” he chants, and she’s so overwhelmed that she almost misses his question when it’s murmured into her shoulder. “Can you say what you said last night?”
It feels like ice in her veins. “I don’t remember,” she admits, choked and pathetic.
“You said you needed me.”
Bile rises in her throat and tears well in her eyes. “I need you,” she begs, even as she hates every second of it. “Please.”
“Yeah, just like that, fuck—”
Akihiko shudders when he comes. His grunts sound like a hundred others. Ken thinks she’d take vomiting again over having to hear that noise above her right now.
There’s only a minute of reprieve before Akihiko moves again, attention turned to Ken with a renewed energy. He kisses up her neck, tastes her lips, curves his wrist just right as he jerks her off. It all makes her skin crawl.
This is what she wants. She started it. She always starts it, she’s always asking for it, and she’s always wanted him, but none of it is right. Despite that, there’s a familiar warmth bubbling up in her core, begging her to chase his touch and seek her own release. It feels wrong, dirty, tainted, but she gives in anyway.
“Will you—”
Stop? Speed up? Make me forget my own name?
“It’s okay. You’re doing good, Ken.”
“No,” she shakes her head, and she’s not sure if she’s disagreeing or pleading for him to stop. “No, I don’t—”
Hit me. You wanted to. Make me hate you.
“I’ve got you. You’re good.”
“Stop it,” she squeaks out before she pathetically comes all over his hand.
She’s still reeling, breathless, and she witnesses everything immediately after in flashes—Akihiko wiping his hand somewhere, giving her a chaste kiss, withdrawing so that he’s next to her on the bed. The silence feels weighty, but she can’t catch her breath or collect her thoughts enough to break it.
Feeling rushes back into Ken’s limbs all at once, sweeping her away like a flood. Her stomach churns and new panic rises, animal and automatic. She tries to sit up frantically, only managing to make it halfway before she leans over the corner and—
Tears stream and her nose runs and the taste is rotten, and the dry heaving hurts more and—
She sits up, dizzy and gasping, and a glass of cold water is pressed into her hands. She isn’t sure when Akihiko moved, but she gulps it down without question. After the immediate shock subsides, there’s a sense of relief in feeling like she’s purged all the poison from her system.
“I didn’t realize you were this… I shouldn’t have…” Akihiko frowns, chewing on his lip before speaking. “I mean. You should stay here the rest of the day. I can walk you home tonight.”
“I made a mess,” Ken croaks. “Let me clean it at least.”
“Ken,” he sighs, and the sharpness in his tone makes her wince. Still, he doesn’t push any more than that.
They get dressed and clean together in silence. It feels good to focus on a concrete task for just a few minutes, even if Ken has to swallow back the burning embarrassment for causing this in the first place. It’s normal, domestic. She never expects moments like this to last anymore.
The tension that hangs between them afterward is palpable. Akihiko has been avoiding eye contact, skittish like he’s done something wrong. She misses when he was younger and more loud-mouthed. At least then she’d have a better excuse for why she feels so angry and restless despite him being nothing but kind.
“I have class tomorrow,” Ken finally says, and Akihiko opens his mouth but doesn’t argue. “So I should really head home.”
“Yeah,” Akihiko relents.
She gets her laundry back in a poorly folded pile but Akihiko says it’s fine for her to keep his clothes. For once, she appreciates being in something so masculine and formless. It feels good to not wear her own skin for a short while.
Akihiko hovers at the doorway, clearly wanting to say more but not knowing where to start. As much as Ken wants to run home and leave this all behind, she gives him a minute to collect his thoughts. She’s not sure if it’s out of pity or from knowing too well how he feels right now.
“Well,” he fidgets, and then manages to look her in the face. “Be safe. I really mean it. And you can call on me again any time.”
He’s back to being brotherly, caring. It’s as much a stupid facade as anything Ken puts on, and it annoys her to know he’s as content as ever to pretend that nothing changed. Always pushing forward.
Ken tenses, giving a formal bow and hoping that's enough to placate him. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“No, Ken, I mean...” Akihiko starts to reach for her arm but falters, hand awkwardly dropping to his side. “Can you just promise me you won’t hang around those shady spots again? That you’ll stop drinking or doing drugs or whatever else?”
The eager part of her wants to agree just to please him, see his smile and bask in his pride. The petty part of her thinks he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction, even if something deep in her core she knows he’s right.
“I can’t promise that,” she says, but she can’t imagine going back to that same place next weekend either.
A glimmer of a scowl crosses Akihiko’s face and Ken’s stomach drops. She hates how awful it feels even now to disappoint him.
“I knew you wouldn’t listen. You’re as stubborn as he was.”
“Then why did you bother asking? So you could feel better about trying to fix me?”
“I guess I hoped you would be more mature now.”
It cuts like a knife, letting her bleed out slow and painful. “And I thought you’d know me better by now.”
Ken slams the door behind her automatically. The regret doesn’t set in until she looks back, mocked by the featureless white expanse of the apartment hall.
She should’ve fought back harder. She should’ve pushed him to his breaking point. She should’ve stayed and begged him to touch her again. Alone, Ken’s body is alight with adrenaline, buzzing with anger and disgust and some deep satisfaction that she fulfilled something she’s always craved. Even as she turns and heads home, she just can’t shake off the feeling.
Despite everything, Ken knows her body will plead for more attention in the coming days, eternally seeking the tension release she needs. She’s just not sure she needs to turn to strangers for it next time.