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“Owww…”
Shun turns, peering back into the night's gloom. A few street lamps light the quiet Tokyo neighbourhood. “You okay, Hana-chan?”
“No…” The woman in question clings to an electrical pole, one foot kicked off the ground and balancing haphazardly on the other. She whimpers with relief when one pink heel tumbles onto the pavement. “My feet hurt,” Hana whines, voice ringing out all high and girlish. The helpless way it always does when she's had too much to drink.
Shun smiles and retraces his steps back to her. He misses the pink heel on his first swipe and almost stumbles flat on his face. Second time lucky. Laughing at himself, Shun straightens and curls an arm around Hana's waist to steady her as she kicks off the other. He scoops that one up too.
“Little feet,” Shun observes approvingly. “That's cute, Hana-chan.”
Hana claps both hands over her face and chokes out a disbelieving giggle. If she wasn't drunk, she'd be whacking him with her handbag. If Shun wasn't drunk, he wouldn't have dared say it. “That sounds perverted, Chief.”
“Surely your boyfriends have told you.” Shun sits heavily on the gutter and fumbles with his own laces. He beckons Hana to sit beside him with a jerk of his head. “Men love it. And ladies like you always have cute hands and feet.”
“Do you mean… chubby women?”
“Mm, yeah.” Shun tugs off a sock and scoots on the gutter to face Hana. He grabs her by the ankle and slides his too-big sock onto her foot. Then the other. When he glances up, Hana’s face is turned away, pulled into a pout. “All good, Hana-chan?”
Hana glances back to him from the corner of her lashes, lip in her teeth. “Akiyama-san… Have you ever slept with a woman like me?”
Shun blinks, mildly taken aback. It's not like they never talk about sex when they've had a few. But Shun can't remember the last time Hana-chan was ever so direct. It feels… significant. Only, right now, the exact significance is completely lost on him.
“Like you?” Shun repeats, pausing at slipping her feet into his dress shoes with a thoughtful frown. Hana is a million things, and he's too drunk to pull it all apart right now any further than the certainty that he's never slept with a woman like Hana. Outspoken, devoted, sweet-hearted Hana.
“Physically,” she elaborates, still avoiding his eyes.
“Ah.” Shun slides the other shoe onto her foot and stands, wincing at the gravel stabbing into his soles. He offers Hana his hands and pulls her to her feet. “Yeah, I have,” he tells her with a wink. “But I don't kiss and tell, Hana-chan. So don't expect names or tales of my conquests.”
“Like I would want them!” Hana huffs and sets off in the direction of her apartment, stomping a little in the too-big men's shoes. She slows and peeks back over her shoulder. “Thanks for the shoes. And for walking me home, Akiyama-san. Be careful not to step on glass, okay?”
Shun chuckles and follows in her wake, Hana's pink heels hooked in his fingers.
They're just at the stairwell to Hana's apartment when Shun hisses and feels something hot oozing from the sole of his foot. When he looks down, he finds a smear of blood trailing behind him on the steps.
“Oops. That's probably glass.”
“Akiyama-san, seriously? Didn't I tell you to be careful? Jeez!” And before he knows it, Hana is whisking him into her cozy apartment, shoving him down onto the sofa and kneeling between his thighs with the biggest first aid box he's ever seen.
“Does it hurt?” Hana asks, prodding at his foot with sterilised tweezers. Her glasses lay discarded on the coffee table behind her. “It's a big piece.”
“Nope,” Shun replies calmly. “Sake will do that.”
“It will if you drink like a fish.”
“Glass houses, Hana-chan.”
As Hana extracts the shard from his foot, dabs him with disinfectants, packs him with cottons, gauzes, dressings, Shun takes in his surroundings. Hana's still in the same little shoebox she's been for ten years, even though he knows she could afford better. He signs off her salary after all. The old cat Momo watches perturbed from the dark kitchen counter, startled by the midnight ruckus.
The warmth of the place oozes into his bones. The soft sofa cushions cradle him. A fluffy carpet tickles the sole of his foot. Nice, clean, feminine scents cloud the air. The glow of yellow lamps turns everything blurry-edged, like a dream. Shun could curl up here forever. This is how it must feel to lay your head down on Hana's breast.
Mm. Now that's a nice idea. Shun's a sucker. Men are fools. He can see down Hana's blouse from this angle. That pair could stop traffic if she ever felt naughty enough.
“Done,” Hana sighs, closing the first aid box. She rests her cheek on Shun’s knee as she checks the bandage, strands of her bangs a windswept mess. Shun tries to lay his hand on her head but his coordination is off, instead ends up tangling his fingers in her hair.
Hana glances up, lips like a rosebud.
Before Shun's brain can catch up he's cupping her face, of a mind to truly thank her. Heartily, emphatically — sincerely! He never thanks her enough. How many guys have a woman around that can perform top notch first aid after keeping pace with him over sake?
“Hana-chan,” Shun rasps, squeezing her cheeks between his palms. They're so soft, like clouds.
Hana stares at his lips, looking wonderstruck.
“I — what was I saying?” Shun is suddenly thoroughly distracted by the rosy flush drenching her skin.
Hana's hands slide up his thighs. A sudden intensity comes over her face. Bemused, Shun watches as she lurches forward and kisses him.
The momentum sends him sinking back into her plush sofa cushions. Hana sucks softly at his lips. Instinct gladly takes over. There's nothing easier than kissing a woman. Shun stokes his fingers behind Hana’s ears, into the fine hairs usually trapped under the arm of her glasses.
“Hana-chan,” Shun moans against her lips. Hana licks into his mouth, gentle but insistent. Her soft belly and ample breasts press between his thighs.
Hana breaks the kiss messily, panting. Her bangs, usually so neat, lay tousled cutely on her forehead. “Come here,” Shun purrs.
Pink as a rose, demure but wobbly, Hana slides a leg up onto the sofa and sinks down onto Shun’s lap. The tight fit of her skirt goes bunching up to her hips. Shun shoves it up the rest of the way, humming at the slide of his hands up her soft thighs.
“Wait,” Hana gasps, pushing herself away by his shoulders. “What am I doing?”
What are we doing?
Something about the buzz makes it all seem so suddenly obvious to Shun. What else could they have done? Hana and Shun — on the grander scale?
Haven't they been idling forever?
Colleagues. Friends. Emotionally entangled. Useless without one another. Colleagues. Friends. Always on the verge of something more, but never leaping for it.
Whiling away years in their comfort zone — their undefined, unconsummated middle ground. Closer and more codependent than friends. Laughing and crying together, flaws on full display, and still, together. Never tiring of the push and pull. Squashing down the what if always crackling like a current between them.
Something changed with that kiss — no, Hana on her knees bandaging him up — no, Shun walking her home barefoot? Or last week, when Hana stayed back late just to get dinner with him after collections? Or even a few months ago, when Shun broke things off with his latest lover because the usual casual thing wasn't scratching the itch lately?
Does when even matter?
Shun feels like he's seeing colour for the first time. It's so right. His hands on Hana's body, her sweet tasting mouth on his. Those eyes, damn it, he always knew she'd have a smoulder like that. Vulnerable and wanting, begging you to take her. Daring you to try.
They're choosing the dare. That's what they're doing.
“It's natural, isn't it? A man and a woman, sitting in a little room together day after day?” Shun purrs. “Don't tell me you haven't thought about me.”
“You haven't thought about me, Chief,” Hana scoffs, her sharp edge cutting through the soft of everything else.
“Of course I have. Do you think we could spend everyday together for years and I wouldn't notice you? I try to ignore it most of the time, keep the peace…” he trails off, distracted by the way Hana's lips part, the raw look of longing turning her eyes to melted chocolate. They'll never have peace again, now he's seen that look. His voice goes rough, “Of course I noticed you, Hana-chan.”
“I hadn't realised…”
Shun lifts a brow. “Hadn't you?” Hana notices when Shun buys a different brand of cigarettes, when he skips lunch, when he's started dating someone new — not that she'd ever admit the last one.
“I don't think you notice how much you tease me, Akiyama-san,” Hana whines softly. “How am I ever supposed to tell when you're serious?”
Shun laughs, too sauced to come up with any of his usual excuses. “I love teasing you, Hana-chan.”
“I know,” Hana mumbles with her chin down, but there's a coy little glimmer in her eyes when she glances back up.
Still smiling, enjoying her weight in his lap, Shun spreads Hana’s hands across his palms. She could model these things. The understated manicure, flawless skin. She still wears the dainty silver ring he gave her years and years ago as thanks after the launch of Sky Finance. Its little ruby, the perfect match to the gentle femininity of her fingers. They were made to be scrunched in his shirt, his sheets, his hair, dressed up pretty with worthless gems. “These hands. I've thought a lot about what they’d look like…” Shun presses his lips to Hana’s ear and breathes, “Everywhere. All over me. On my —”
“Chief!” Hana rears back and smacks one of her hands over his lips, her own mouth agape. Shun's eyes crinkle with amusement. “Are you trying to kill me!?”
He pulls her hand aside just enough to kiss her palm, rest her knuckles on his cheek and watch the blush deepen on her pretty face. “It's natural, is all I'm saying, Hana-chan. It's natural to wonder.”
“It's natural, is it?” Hana murmurs. Her other palm rests over his heart. It throbs hard through his breast like it's competing with the rest of him for her attention.
“If you don't want to though, I'll go home and we'll pretend like this never happened,” Shun adds quietly, meaning it.
And if she does want to, well… Neither of them are really working with the neural capacity to think that far ahead.
Maybe everything will be fine. Great, even. Booze is always good for muffling the realist in him.
Hana bites her lip. Shun wants her to bite him instead. “I want to,” she admits. She looks up at him through her lashes bravely, deciding on the contrivance, choosing the dare. “You're a good looking man, Akiyama-san. It's only natural to want you, isn't it?”
“And you're a beautiful lady. So it feels natural to you too, Hana-chan?” Shun rolls his hips up against her just in case she somehow missed the message.
“Y-Yeah,” she sighs, bearing down with the motion. “Please take your belt off, though, Akiyama-san. It's uncomfortable.”
Obediently, Shun wiggles it out of the loops and it promptly disappears into the cushions forever. Hana rewards him by dragging her pussy up his erection, back down, her panties whispering on his slacks, and Shun decides he'll probably never wear a belt again with a feedback loop like that.
“Hana-chan… Shit, Hana-chan…”
“What is it?” Hana asks, plucking the buttons of Shun’s shirt open one by one, then yanking the whole thing out of his pants. For a second she just sits there chewing her lip, admiring him. It's not that Shun is at all impressive compared to some of the company he keeps, but he's not so bad for a guy in his mid-thirties. Seeming to agree, Hana's nails drag lightly down his chest, sparking a wave of goosebumps.
Shun tips his head back against the cushions and watches her half-lidded. The slow grind of their hips melts his already sluggish mind. “What, what?”
Hana glances up, then breathes out a giggle, presumably at whatever face he's making. A sloppy grin pulls his lips in response. She's cute. Hana’s touch strays down to his waistband before coyly creeping back up. It's all getting very interesting. “You're the one who keeps saying my name, Chief.”
“Why wouldn't I?” Shun strokes a knuckle across her jaw. “You really are like a flower. Couldn't think of any better way describe you.”
The gentle curves of her cheeks turn pink. Her lashes drop sweetly. A spring bloom.
“Jeez, you're a sappy drunk, Akiyama-san,” Hana mumbles, as if she doesn't glow under his attention. “Would you just take my clothes off, already?”
“Yes, my lady.”
The buttons of Hana’s blouse are tiny and backwards. Shun struggles with them until Hana bats his hand away and demonstrates similar levels of inebriation. Panting, laughing, they both give up and work it over Hana's head instead, then send it soaring over towards the kitchen.
Unable to hold back any longer, Shun drags his hand up between Hana's thighs and pulls aside her panties. He sucks in a sharp inhale as his fingers slide along her slit. He can't remember the last time anyone was so wet for him after just some heavy petting. “God, Hana-chan. Hana —”
“You're doing it again, Chief,” Hana points out. She's struggling for the clasp of her bra, frowning. Her eyes are a little wet at the corners from laughing. “We're not done yet. Help me.”
“My pleasure.” He flings the bra off into the depths of her apartment next. “Ahh,” Shun groans at the sight of her perched in his lap. “You're perfect. Perfect woman.” He buries his face in her breasts. His fingers creep back into her panties and stroke between her folds. Her thighs shudder when he circles her clit lightly, stiff and beautifully slippery. Shun gets to work warming her up even more.
“It took you long enough to notice.” Gentle hands cup his face and draw him up from her cleavage. Hana looks down at him with her lip in her teeth. “Do you have a condom?”
“Uh, probably? My wallet is in there,” Shun points to his pocket, closed in by Hana's knee.
Valiantly, Hana hops off and tries to disentangle Shun’s wallet from his pocket. In the process, she also manages to extract his cigarettes and pull his pants half down. “Thanks,” Shun chuckles, kicking out of the slacks.
Hana shimmies out of her wrinkled skirt and kneels back down between his thighs again. A wad of cash, credit cards, several faded receipts, and a stack of business cards from hostess spots and local businesses alike go scattering onto her table, until finally she draws out the foil between two fingers.
“Do you want to see my party trick, Akiyama-san?” Hana asks shyly. She tears open the packet.
“Yes,” Shun answers instantly.
“Don't laugh,” she commands with a pout. And it's so Hana-like that his heart squeezes.
Shun's soul nearly exits his body when Hana pops the rubber circle against her lips, tugs down the front of his underwear, and proceeds to perform the most hilariously erotic display of skill he may have ever been the guinea pig for.
His jaw hits the floor.
Hana glares up him, though the alcohol has turned its usual edge soft as a marshmallow.
He can't help it. He laughs, a sudden bark of shock, awe, adoration.
“Akiyama-san! I told you not to laugh!” Hana cries, covering her face with her hands in mortification.
“What kind of parties are you going to?” Shun laughs. “And why haven't you invited me?”
“Jeez, I'm just going to bed!”
Shun manages to snag her wrists as she goes to stand in the half-hearted bluff. “Don't leave me now Hana-chan,” he pleads, playing along. “It's already on. Aren't you always telling me to be less wasteful?”
“Well… it would be a waste…” Hana says, eyeing his dick with a little craving bite of her lip. The look on her face, the adorable way she tries to conceal her eagerness makes Shun suddenly desperate for what comes next. The panties fall to the floor between his feet. The neat hair between Hana's legs is black — her natural colour. Seeing it feels like she's trusting him with a precious secret. Hana allows Shun to coax her back onto his lap. Biting her lip, she lines him up with her entrance and sinks down just enough to hold him in agonising place.
Shun thought he gave up for good on inebriated trysts like this a long time ago. Not because he generally faced the mornings with regret. His gripe was just the mechanics of it all. The waste of a night on something subpar. Like being only just hard enough that the lady won't notice the difference, but he will. The extra effort it takes to come. Maybe that was helpful fifteen years ago. These days, the juice isn't usually worth the squeeze.
Tonight, Hana, with her usual earnest intensity, is wholly dedicated to proving him wrong.
Shun watches hungrily as he sinks into her, fingers denting Hana's round hips. Even with the barrier, she's hot and lovely, gripping him fiercely as she finds her rhythm on top of him.
Shun realises immediately that he never could have been ready for her.
Hana fucks Shun like he's just a cock to be used. All for herself. As if she knows he'll be content with anything, so long as he can watch her get hers. Which of them does that say more about? Hana for seeing through him, or Shun for being so easy to read?
Ironically, the joke is on them both. For all their excuses. For years wasted. For not doing this sooner.
Shun wallows in being used. Hana is just so good at it. Up in a maddeningly slow drag, savouring his length, making him feel like more than he has any right to. Down. A tight, rolling arc till he bottoms out. Hana lingers to grind her clit down on his groin. Her whole body clings to the pleasure, arches back till he hits the right spot. Encloses him. Forces him to wait agonisingly inside her as she responds to his shape.
Over and over.
Shun clutches Hana helplessly. He's almost amused at himself for not anticipating this. He's only hoping he can last long enough to satisfy her. That in itself is looking to be a herculean task. Hana’s body works him like he's a tool.
But that's only the mechanics. Up here, between Hana’s palms, there's only one way to describe the contradiction of Hana-chan on top.
Hana is making love. To Shun.
Desperate fingers scratch through Shun's hair. A thousand soft, stinging kisses, tongue and teeth, rain down on his neck. Shun melts back into the sofa cushions, Hana shoves him further like she wants to keep him here forever. The unfamiliar passivity Hana lulls him into lights a little spark of bliss Shun wasn't aware he had, turning him into her thrall. Between kisses, Hana moans all the ways she needs him, how no one else will do. Shun believes her.
No one has ever wanted him like this. “Hana,” he gasps, “Hana-chan —”
It's the kind of thing he's going to crave for the rest of his life.
“Yes!” She whimpers, “Yes, yes!” Shun stares at her half-lidded as Hana's back arches with a euphoric cry, her hands splayed on his chest. He has to grip himself tightly by the base, clenching his jaw as she closes in around him.
His heart is thundering when Hana’s hazy eyes finally blink open. Shun throbs inside her. Back and forth, Hana languidly fucks him, watching his face with unfathomable desire. He's helpless. He's addicted. The wave of crushing pleasure slams into him, his eyes roll and everything goes white.
***
The hangover feels like someone drove a rail spike into Shun's skull.
He buries his face further into the sweet smelling pillow. Even that sends a bolt of pain lancing from the top of his spine to his eyeballs.
Silky sheets whisper coolly on his skin. Everything smells good. A woman's bed.
Slowly, his brain registers the warm, fluffy weight curled against the crook of his neck, purring.
Shun cracks his eyes open blearily. “Momo?” he rasps. The old cat is cuddled tightly against his skin, his grey fur tickling Shun's nose. The dots are there, but they won't connect.
Shapes and colours start to appear in the dim morning light. Pale sheets, extra pillows tossed on the floor. Everything else is tidy — a wardrobe, dressing table and a thick rug on the floor. The vaguely feminine style of a grown up, single woman.
And at last, he turns his eyes towards the warm body beside him, and finds her… Hana-chan. She looks like an angel in her sleep, hand tucked under her chin, face soft and youthful. At the sight of her plump overused lips, his fingerprints bruised onto her thigh, it all comes flooding back. Shun will remember the feeling of being underneath her for the rest of his life. He'll remember all of it.
The crushing urge to reach out and touch her seizes his chest. Followed swiftly by the cold flood of fear. He's hit with the distinct feeling that he's done everything backwards when he didn't even realise there was a forwards until it was too late.
Pain lances up his injured foot as Shun stumbles naked to Hana's bathroom and heaves over the toilet. Groaning pitifully, he sags against the sink and splashes water across his face and chest.
Grimacing, he glances up at his reflection. Nice to see he looks exactly as good as he feels. Wild strands of hair frame his face. Deep bags line his eyes. Direly in need of a shave. A winding purple bruise snakes up the column of his throat and stops beneath his ear. Hana's love bites. He swallows hard, the memories surging up.
As the nausea ebbs, Shun tears his eyes from his ragged reflection and squints around. The tiny bathroom is squeaky clean and tidy. Hana's little bottles of cosmetics and lotions sit stacked neatly on small plastic shelves under the sink. Her towel smells good when he presses his face against it.
It's hardly changed. Shun remembers his first time in this quaint bathroom, years and years ago. One random night, Hana scooped him off the streets for a bath and a proper meal, practically trembling with the injustice of it, swearing to quit Touto Bank just as soon as she had another way to cover rent. They never really spoke of it again, even when it panned out that the job she took to cover rent was with him. He's done what he can to repay her over the years. He's gone over and above just so that so many words can go unspoken. Just so they can continue idling. Choosing to run from the what if.
Has Hana loved Shun all this time? Even when he was destitute, with nothing to offer but a heart devoted to another woman?
Of course she has. Shun has always known that.
When did he start to feel the same?
It's a hard thing to quantify. Things between Hana and Shun have never been easily defined. She's his best friend, his favourite person, the keeper of all his secrets. He's made her cry a hundred times and he'd do anything to bring back her smile.
“Shit. Shit, shit!”
Panic floods Shun’s veins. He clings to the sides of the sink. This wasn't the plan. Rule number one in smart investment is diversification of your damn portfolio. Instead, Shun's waking up one random Saturday to find he somehow ended up with all his eggs in Hana's basket. Work, play, his secrets, his loves, his hates, day-to-day-routine, weaknesses, comforts, now sex, now —
He doesn't know if he has it in him to do this kind of thing again. To suffer this kind of life upheaving heartbreak again. Because Eri leaving wasn't just Eri leaving. His world collapsed.
What if he lost Hana? What would Shun have left without her?
By the time he limps back to her bedroom, Hana is awake. A shaky breath spills out of her, like she needed to see him to believe the man she took to bed was indeed her Akiyama-san. Shun cups his hands over his junk respectfully. She's like a goddess, half draped in sheets, her curves everywhere, everywhere. He can still feel her all over him, feel inside of her. He wants her like air.
It's terrifying.
They stare at each other.
“Your foot…”
“Hurts like a…” Shun catches himself, he's not sure why. “You patched me up well, though, Hana-chan.”
“You should go to the clinic. You might need stitches or a shot.”
“Yeah. I should go.”
“I, um…” Hana's eyes flutter everywhere but him. A fierce blush colours her face. She looks as ill as he just felt. “I don't remember where your clothes are.” She looks about ready to curl up under her covers and never emerge again.
“You don't remember, huh?” Shun mutters. Somehow, it's more of an ache than a relief. The memory is burned into him. He's pretty sure Hana will be under his skin for the rest of his life. The least he could've done is return the favour.
Shun hops unsteadily back to Hana's living room and tries to scoop up all his personal effects. His clothes are draped chaotically over Hana's furniture. The contents of his wallet tipped out on her coffee table. A foil wrap sticks out between the sofa cushions. The industrial first aid box sits open on the floor.
Shun sighs and haphazardly dresses. When he can't find the belt, he gives up, feeling like he's leaving evidence at the scene of a crime.
He limps around the small space and scoops up Hana’s discarded things too, because it feels disrespectful seeing her panties tossed aside like that. Like what happened last night is just something that can be thrown away. Shun drapes the blouse, skirt and underwear over the sofa cushion.
Hana reappears as he’s sticking his uninjured foot into the shoe at the genkan, bundled in a big sweater and what looks like nothing else. What kind of man could leave a woman like her alone on a cold morning?
“Here,” she murmurs, and holds out a bottle of electrolyte water.
“Thanks…” Shun takes it and reaches for the door knob. “And thanks for the first aid, Hana-chan.”
Is he really doing this? Covering over this with one big bandage, as if it never happened at all?
Hana doesn't look at him.
“...Anytime, Chief.”