CHAPTER 2
As soon as they left, Kiyomi bolted home, his heart still hammering in his chest. He didn't stop until he was behind the locked door of his bedroom, his lungs burning and his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Even in the safety of the shadows, Izumi's face haunted him. The memory of that weight above him—and the slick, heat-filled moment their lips touched—made his blood rush in ways he could no longer ignore. He turned toward his mirror, stripping away the ruined white dress to study the smooth, pale skin of his small frame.
The bite marks on his cherries stung—crimson, fresh, and undeniable proof of his encounter.
A flush of heat pooled low in his stomach. His tiny chick stiffened, standing proud at its absolute limit: exactly seven centimeters. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up. He twisted and pulled at his own cherries, mimicking the exact, agonizingly sweet pressure Izumi had used.
"Izumi..." The name slipped past his lips as a broken moan. He wrapped one hand around his seven-centimeter pride, stroking with a desperate, electric rhythm.
Spit dribbled over the cherries as he continued, twisting harder, stretching the sensitive skin until the pain blended with pleasure. His breaths came fast, shallow, moans spilling into his small bedroom.
"Izumi! Izumi! IZUMI—"
Creak.
The bedroom door groaned. Kiyomi froze, his entire body locking up as the air in the room turned to ice.
"Kiki-kun?" It was his mother. Her voice echoed from the hallway, just inches away.
Kiyomi lunged for the door, pressing his bare, sweaty back against the wood to keep it shut. He held his breath, his heart threatening to burst through his chest.
"Yes… Mom?" he squeaked. He tried to deepen his voice, but it came out high and shaky.
"Where's the groceries?"
Kiyomi's fingers twitched against his skin; he was still pulsing, still leaking. "Uh… I put them on the sofa! Check there first!" he blurted out.
There was a pause. He heard her footsteps, then stop.
He gritted his teeth, pressing harder against the door.
"Mom… please. I'm just tired. Can you go?"
"Okay… just be good," she sighed, her footsteps finally fading away.
Kiyomi sank to the floor, his knees giving out. The tension snapped. A final, violent shiver ran through him, and then—just like in the grocery store—he lost control. Urine spilled across the tiles, warm and shameful, as the aftershocks of his seven-centimeter climax rocked his small frame.
The next day at Midorikawa University, the whispers were like a physical weight. The news of the breakup and the Sexual Harassment in the classroom had spread like wildfire.
Kiyomi walked through the halls with a measured, hollow calm. He should have felt crushed. He should have been crying. Instead, his mind was a loop of a different movie: the scent of Izumi's skin and the way the his expression had cracked for just a second when Kiyomi kissed him.
During break, Kiyomi sat alone in the cafeteria, eating katsudon.
Thud.
A basketball slammed into his back and bounced away. Kiyomi spun around, ready to flinch, but he relaxed when he saw the culprit.
Tanaka Takumi. A first-year senior, a basketball prodigy, and the only person who didn't look at Kiyomi like he was trash.
"What are you daydreaming about?" Takumi said, dropping into the seat beside him.
"No—nothing," Kiyomi muttered, glancing sideways.
He looked at Takumi. The older boy was massive—taller than Izumi, with shoulders that stretched his shirt to the breaking point.
(Takumi is taller than Izumi. His clothes can't hide his muscles… but Izumi is cuter. Wait—what am I comparing them?)
"You eating that?" Takumi asked, eyeing the katsudon.
"No, actually—"
Before he could finish, Takumi pulled the bowl over and began eating with casual, dominant efficiency.
Kiyomi watched, transfixed.
(His jaws look strong. His tongue… longer than Izumi's. Why didn't I notice? I'm a fool!)
Takumi chewed with casual dominance, effortless and loud without trying. He'd always been like that. Big. Confident. Unmissable.
When Takumi had transferred last month, the entire class had gone quiet the moment he stepped through the door. Tall. Broad. A basketball talent recruited mid-term. Even the professors adjusted their tone around him.
No one had approached him—except Kiyomi.
They had been sitting next to each other ever since. Takumi blinked down at him that first day, confused more than intimidating. Kiyomi had smiled anyway.
After that, it just… stuck.
Kiyomi shared his notes whenever Takumi missed class for training. Explained assignments. Pretended not to notice how the other students kept their distance.
And somehow, without saying a word, the bullying had stopped. No one wanted to test the new basketball prodigy.
"I heard about yesterday," Takumi said between bites.
"Don't worry about it," Kiyomi replied, looking down.
"A week of a relationship, gone because that wench—"
Takumi stopped. A group of students was walking past. Hotaru was in the center, laughing loudly. Takumi stood up so fast his chair screeched.
"You need something?" Hotaru, Kiyomi's ex, called out from the middle of them.
Takumi marched over and grabbed Hotaru by her collar, hoisting her up until her toes barely touched the floor. His fist was cocked back, veins bulging in his arm.
"Kyaaaa!" the students screamed.
But the punch never landed. A hand caught Takumi's fist in mid-air.
Izumi.
He stepped between them like a human wall, his movements precise and theatrical.
"I didn't think a star athlete would enjoy hitting girls," Izumi said, his voice dripping with aristocratic charm.
"This wench hurt my friend," Takumi growled, his voice a low vibration that made the tables rattle.
The two of them stood tall, like lions ready to tear each other apart. The crowd quickly gathered, buzzing with anticipation.
Kiyomi stepped forward, tiny in comparison to both of them. Barely 160 centimeters—barely taller than Hotaru. His chest fluttered, a strange warmth crawling through him as he positioned himself between the two towers.
(I wonder... who will win?)
"Please don't fight," he squeaked. Not his natural voice, but a high pitch forced by Izumi's presence.
(Oh no! I almost sound like a girl!)
The crowd erupted into laughter.
"I think we know why you got dumped!"
Kiyomi flushed, glancing at Izumi. But Izumi wasn't laughing. He was staring at Kiyomi's lips, his eyes narrowed as if he were recognizing a ghost.
"You don't know your place, scum," Hotaru spat, hitting Kiyomi in the face.
"That's it!" Takumi roared, swinging again—
"STOP!" A firm voice cut through the chaos from across the cafeteria.
"Hameda-sensei!" some students yelled, scattering in all directions.
Professor took everyone involved to his office. He scolded them for causing a scene, even though they had explained the situation. He gave Takumi warning and notified his club.
For punishment, his club seniors ordered him to clean the university pool. Kiyomi volunteered to help his friend, feeling partly responsible—and of course, Takumi accepted happily.
While cleaning, they wore only their swimming trunks, leaving their torsos fully exposed. Takumi's slightly tanned skin contrasted sharply with Kiyomi's pale frame.
As Takumi scrubbed the tiles, his muscles rippled. Kiyomi found himself staring at the sweat dripping down Takumi's back.
(His muscles are so well defined…)
Takumi paused and caught Kiyomi glancing at him. Panicking, Kiyomi immediately pressed his hands to his chest—his pink cherries, to be exact.
"I thought you were here to help me?" Takumi asked, wiping his brow.
"Takkun… please turn around," Kiyomi muttered, his voice nearly squeaking.
"Sorry, what?"
No words came out of Kiyomi's mouth. He closed his eyes and stiffened, pressing his legs together.
(Stupid! I can't tell him I'm this embarrassed… can I?)
Takumi didn't wait for an answer. He dropped the brush and stepped toward Kiyomi. He was a tower of heat and muscle. Before Kiyomi could bolt, Takumi grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his chest.
Kiyomi's breath hitched. His small, smooth chest was fully exposed. His cherries were still darken from the night before.
(Ah! He's seen everything…)
Kiyomi tried to resist, but his arms were too weak, too soft. He could only freeze under Takumi's towering gaze.
"Takkun!?" he squeaked, his face turning a violent shade of red.
Takumi frowned, his gaze lingering on Kiyomi's chest for a second too long before he let go. "What's wrong with you today? You're acting weird."
"I-I-I can't help you unless you turn around!"
Takumi exhaled, then turned away at his friend's request, resuming his scrubbing.
"Just help me, okay?" he said casually.
"Mhm," Kiyomi whispered, unable to form proper words, his heart still racing.
(Wha— he's so bold…)
The air felt stiff with awkwardness as they continued cleaning. Both sensed it, but neither spoke. Yet, Kiyomi chose to break the silence first.
"Takkun…"
"Yeah?"
"You seem popular… do you have a girlfriend?"
"No… where does this come from?"
Hearing that, Takumi felt a flicker of relief.
(Yes… Wait, what?)
"No… nothing, just asking."
"Kiki… why did you date Hotaru?"
"I thought she was really cute. And… she's very popular. I thought I could be popular too, if I said yes."
Takumi chuckled, amused. Kiyomi's answer struck him as endearing.
"That's surprisingly normal. But you should have known better. Girls like that wouldn't date just anyone."
"I know. But Takkun… what about you? What's your type?"
"For me?" he asked. "Idols."
"I didn't know you're into idols."
"I am."
"But aren't they all liars? The idols, I mean."
"Yes, they lie—but they're still honest with their hearts."
"Takkun, I'm honest with my heart too."
Takumi glanced at Kiyomi immediately. Kiyomi turned his face away, avoiding his eyes.
(Oh no! Why did I say that? It sounded like a confession.)
Takumi stepped closer again. Kiyomi didn't run, didn't even try to cover himself. He simply stood there, expecting a scolding or a yell.
But—
A sudden pinch on his chest made him flinch. Kiyomi gasped softly, caught off guard.
Takumi twisted lightly, and Kiyomi didn't resist. He simply moaned, caught in the moment. His little chick stirred, though it was too small to be noticeable through his swimming trunks.
Not long after, Takumi released him and chuckled.
"I don't think you understand what I'm talking about…"
"Um… Takkun… why did you stop?" Kiyomi asked, voice squeaky, cheeks burning.
They both froze. Takumi was slightly confused by Kiyomi's words, but for the sake of their friendship, he chose to pretend not to hear it.
"Kiki, that joke is so funny I would rather not hear it again," he said, smirking.
The two continued cleaning the pool. By afternoon, they had finished and went home separately.
At home, lying on his bed without a shirt, Kiyomi thought of Takumi—specifically his jaw and tongue. The way Takumi had chewed and licked the katsudon still lingered in his mind, sending a thrill through him.
He reached down, touching his cherries, pulling them as Takumi had.
"Takkun~"
The twisting and tugging made his entire body tremble.
Ding.
His phone buzzed, interrupting him.
(Oh… it's probably Takkun!)
Kiyomi paused. The only person in his LONE contacts was Tanaka Takumi—just Takkun. Not even Hotaru had given him her address.
He hurriedly checked his phone:
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