Shō slammed the apartment door behind him, leaned against it, and slid all the way down to the floor. His legs felt like jelly. His heart was still racing like he'd sprinted ten blocks. And his jaw—god, his jaw still burned where Kenji's fingers had been.
He buried his face in his knees, groaning. "What the actual hell was that...huh?"
The tiny one-room apartment was dark except for the glow of his laptop on the desk. Empty ramen cups littered the counter, and a half-eaten convenience store onigiri sat forgotten from lunch. It wasn't much, but it was quiet. Safe. His little cave.
Shō kicked off his shoes and crawled straight to the bed, flopping face-first into the pillow. The bookstore uniform—soft gray sweater and black slacks—still smelled faintly of books and Kenji's stupid expensive cologne.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His hand drifted up to touch his jaw again. Thumb tracing the exact spot.
Good. You stay still when touched.
Kenji's voice echoed in his head, low and rough. Shō's stomach flipped. Heat rushed south way too fast. He slapped his hand over his eyes.
"No, no, no. Stop it. He's your boss. Straight boss. Super straight, super scary, super off-limits boss."
But his body didn't care about logic. It never did.
Shō had always been like this—touch-starved and over-sensitive. A single brush of fingers could short-circuit his brain. A hug from a friend (rare as they were) left him flushed for hours. He hated it. Hated how easily he reacted. Hated how obvious it sometimes got.
He reached for his phone and opened the secret folder—the one buried deep in a fake calculator app. Thumbnails of BL manga covers filled the screen. He scrolled mindlessly, stopping on one with a tall CEO pinning a shy employee against a desk.
Shō groaned louder and tossed the phone away. "I'm so screwed."
His mind wandered back—way back—to why he was like this.
He grew up in a small town two hours from the city. Old-fashioned parents, strict house rules. His dad was a salaryman who came home late and tired. His mom stayed home, always nagging about grades, posture, manners. Affection wasn't a thing in their house. No hugs, no "I love yous," no pats on the back. Just expectations.
Shō learned early to stay quiet. To take up less space. To keep his feelings locked up tight.
High school was worse. He was the weird kid who read too much, talked too little, and blushed at everything. The popular guys teased him endlessly—poking his cheeks, ruffling his hair, calling him cute in that mocking tone. One time, a senior cornered him in the locker room after PE, hand on his waist, breath too close. Shō panicked, shoved him away, and ran.
After that, he avoided everyone. Skipped club activities. Ate lunch alone on the rooftop.
The only place he felt normal was in stories. He discovered BL manga in his second year—hidden behind a bookshelf in the local library. The first one he read was about a cold senpai falling for a soft kouhai. Shō devoured it in one night, heart pounding, cheeks on fire.
For the first time, he didn't feel broken. The characters reacted like him—flustered, sensitive, melting at a single touch. And the semes? They noticed. They chased. They wanted.
Shō moved to the city right after graduation. Got the bookstore job because it was quiet, predictable. No loud crowds, no forced teamwork. Just books and solitude.
He thought he could keep hiding forever.
Then Kenji Aikawa started showing up more.
Shō rolled over, hugging a pillow tight. His mind replayed the scene again—the brush of fingers, the thumb on his jaw, the almost-kiss. He could still feel Kenji's breath on his lips.
His phone buzzed. A message from his coworker, Yumi.
Yumi: dude the boss was weird today?? he kept staring at the front display after you fixed it. like full-on zoning out. u ok?
Shō typed back with shaky fingers.
Shō: yeah fine. just tired.
Yumi: liar. your face was redder than the romance section. spill later ok?
He didn't reply.
Instead, he opened his laptop and pulled up a blank document—the one where he sometimes wrote little fantasies. Nothing serious. Just scenes to get the feelings out.
Tonight, the words poured.
He pinned me against the table, hand on my jaw, eyes dark and hungry. "Stay still," he ordered. And I did. I couldn't move even if I wanted to. His thumb brushed my lip, and I—
Shō stopped typing. Deleted the whole thing. Slammed the laptop shut.
"This is bad. This is so bad."
He took a cold shower, hoping it would calm everything down. It didn't.
Wrapped in a towel, he fed the stray cat that always waited on his tiny balcony. The black kitten—named Mochi—rubbed against his legs, purring. Shō scratched behind its ears, smiling for the first time all evening.
"At least you don't judge me, huh?"
Mochi meowed and headbutted his hand.
Shō sighed. "I start shift at ten tomorrow. He'll probably be there again."
The thought made his chest tight—half dread, half something he didn't want to name.
He crawled into bed, lights off, city sounds filtering through the window. Sleep didn't come easy. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kenji's face inches away. Felt those fingers on his skin.
At some point, he drifted off.
Dreamed of strong hands gripping his waist. A deep voice whispering commands. His own body obeying without question.
He woke up hot and tangled in sheets, breathing hard.
The alarm hadn't even gone off yet.
Shō stared at the ceiling again.
"Tomorrow's gonna suck."
But deep down—a tiny, traitorous part of him couldn't wait.