What is love?
'Baby, don't hurt me—'
Not the time, Brain-chan.
'Is it ever the time for a song to get stuck inside of me like suspiciously agile vines on a blonde elf knight?'
Right. Moving on to safer avenues of inquiry, I must repeat: what is love?
A four-letter word, sure. A source of ever-convenient power-ups. The main motivator behind a lazy plot. The only character trait that the I Can't Believe It's Not a Stalker main interests usually get.
An empty platitude.
But is it? Can it really be empty when so many works aspire to capture its essence? When so many lesser stories rely on it like a crutch, trusting that the mere presence of love will infuse the narration with a meaning universally relatable?
What is love, that ever-elusive notion, that feeling we all think we know, only to experience something that makes us question if what we once called love truly was, if it can ever be something other than an aspiration rather than a memory, if there's any love other than the ideal we imperfectly aspire to?
There are entire genres and subgenres devoted to exploring this question, even if not always explicitly. Love is shown through the actions of somebody fighting for it or those of somebody defeated in its absence. Love is captured in single panels that portray a smile that's never appeared in the entire manga until that very moment. Love is shown in a single tear falling past a lonely cheek. Love is… a lot of things.
But, ultimately?
Love is pain.
"Come on, just one more," Shizu says, her voice right by my ear, cruelly encouraging as the gust of warm breath chases away the cool morning air chilling her living room.
"Wark," I eloquently tell her as Body-kun tries his best to echo a time long gone when the innocent, joyous cry of a chocobo was all it took for rest and recovery to come.
"Just finish this one set. You can do it," she insists, kneeling by my side as my arms tremble, pushing ever so slowly up, trying to finish this one push-up—"Your hips are dropping. Be mindful of your form."
… I am going to be mindful of your goddamn form, woman—
"You're doing great. Come on, Hachi. You're almost there."
… I shall be appropriately mindful of your form as it deserves to be properly appreciated. But it's not like I'm trying not to blush like a Saika in love or anything.
"Good. Now, slowly go down. Don't lose control. You get most of the gains from an exercise from the negative rep, so don't let yourself fall. Keep going. Come on, Hachi, you can do it."
I am doing it, woman! What the Hell does it look like from your perspective?! Where do you think the puddle of sweat below my forehead comes from, first-date jitters?!
Or, in other, more succinct yet equally eloquent words:
"Wark."
"Almost there—perfect! You did great!" the uncomfortably excited woman says, cheering at the sight of my ruined body lying lifeless below her in ways I thought only the Yukinoshita siblings ever would have.
Scratch that; Yukino wouldn't have been this effusive. A half-smirk and silent huff of amusement would have been the actual reaction.
'I don't care how much you tempt me or entice me; I'm unable to get properly riled up at the image.'
Huh. So your weak point all along was physical torture. I wonder why I never stumbled upon this method before.
'Try to verbalize your thoughts on Sword Art Online's treatment of Asuna post-Aincrad.'
"Wark!"
'That. That is why you've never exploited "my" weakness before.'
Hate you. So much.
Also, Shizu's body shouldn't be this soft with all the toned muscle that powers it.
"Come on, let's get you to the sofa," she says, her voice a tad mellower than when she was whispering encouragement in my ear as she surrounds me with her arms and scent, her warmth, and pulls me up, taking almost all my weight when she notices my legs still trembling from the set of squats I did before the push-ups, and after the pull-ups in her wall-mounted rack, and the dumbbell exercises that took advantage of a set more complete that my single pair to introduce me to various exercises that target different muscles, and… okay, to sum it up?
I am tired.
I am exhausted.
And she, meanwhile, is covered in a sheen of sweat that shimmers with the gray morning light coming from her balcony, tracing her profile in more delineated lines than her LED lights did a couple of hours ago, when she woke up in the middle of the night to take care of me.
She should look haggard. Tired. Maybe something that pairs with her usual, scatter-brained self and how I imagine she would look if she was the one who was still recovering from a hangover.
She…
She leans over me, resting her wet forehead on my own, closing her eyes as a soft smile graces her lips and leaves me breathless in ways that push-ups never could.
Then she pushes up and away, standing in front of me with her purple elastic shorts, her gray sports bra, and the white ankle socks that I never would've thought would be a charm point, but they apparently can be as long as they are worn by a woman who exudes enough charm by herself that any adornment is both insufficient and magnified just because it's her wearing it.
The smile gets a bit impish, maybe a fraction of an Iroha, and she turns around, shooting me a wink over her shoulder… and she bends down.
Stretching.
"It helps with muscle fatigue," she murmurs, looking at me from between her calves as her long ponytail drapes on hardwood.
As bare legs tense in ways that show all the sharply defined curves, from the tendons pushing away the hem of her socks, to the calves elongating with her stretch and the thighs that brush against one another under the edge of her elastic shorts, separating once they're covered by purple lycra right before another kind of soft roundness starts, her derriere swaying slightly when she deepens her stretch to pinch the tips of her big toes, her tempting, upside-down grin briefly turning into a frown of concentration when she does focus on the exercise rather than on my reaction to it.
To her.
"Wark," I try not to say.
And she explodes in laughter that, given her current position, ends up with her unbalancing and falling backward in a windmilling panic that has her admirable derriere crash against my lap.
A part of me, a deep-seated, carefully cultivated part that has been one of my defining traits for as long as I can remember going to school and meeting people who deserved to be mocked, wants to come up with a witty remark.
I, instead, hug her.
"H—hey!" she says, suddenly flustered, squirming on top of me.
So I bite the side of her neck. Which doesn't make her stop squirming, truth be told, but at least a pleasant moan joins the wiggling of her hips on top of me.
"Ha—Hachi, we don't have the time…" she protests as my hands run up and down her toned belly, a spasm of released tension making the taut flesh quiver under my touch.
"Wark," I contradict her in the lowest tone I can manage.
Which, against all expectations, has her look back at me over her shoulder, blink a couple of times, and then bend forward in full-bodied laughter.
… I shall have my vengeance. Nobody gets to besmirch the honor of the golden chocobo, that majestic creature.
"S—sorry!" she says, futilely trying to placate my ire. "It's just… that voice. That voice of yours should not—wark!"
… Okay, I may be in a forgiving mood after hearing a proper answer to my mating call.
"Wha—Hachi!" she says when I slip my right hand up, cupping her tightly bound breast, feeling the elastic fabric confining the soft flesh below, the tips of my fingers daring to trace the line where skin overflows from the band of pressure delineating where her sportsy attire ends and the sensitive body part yields at my probing grasp.
"Wark," I deliberately say right into her red ear as a grin I can't be bothered to contain pushes my cheeks up.
"Hn!" she satisfyingly answers, her head thrown back over my shoulder, carelessly exposing her neck to my lips and tongue.
And, well, I'm not a martial artist, but if I've learned something from Haruno, it's to take advantage of an opening.
'You and I remember that rooftop duel very differently.'
Thankfully, Iroha documented it for both of us, so, in lieu of a futile argument, I think I'll be kissing up the pulsing vein on the side of Shizu's neck, delight in her further squirming, and—
"Hachi!"
Yeah, that.
By which I mean that I just pulled down her bra just enough that the elastic fabric is pushing her freed nipple up against eagerly pinching fingers as I slide my left hand down, past the border of her lycra shorts, navigating the wet warmth stuffing her clothes as I suck on pale flesh in a way that would be far more gruesome if I had Komachi's fangs.
"Ah… You… that's not fair…" she says, utterly ignorant of the terrible irony.
"You. You," I briefly refute before nibbling along her jawline to reach her ear, getting the dangling lobe into my mouth with an upward flick of my tongue, sucking on her as I work more of her generous breast out of the tight confines and find another elastic band to slide my left hand under, a band that is followed by lacy patterns that I could swear I recognize by touch alone, even if the lace's wet and sticking to her heated flesh.
"Gods, this is… You're going to be late…" she insists even as she grinds her ass down on me until my trapped member slides along the crack between toned cheeks and my fingers reach further down inside her panties so that her swaying hips get me to touch the underside of my cock through her lingerie, her shorts, and my own clothes.
"Better late than early," I suggestively whisper before licking around inside her ear canal, delighting in the groan that I get out of her as I try to maneuver her body with strength I shouldn't have after the 'brief training session' she just inflicted on me.
Luckily, she collaborates more readily than her set of weights did. Which is unsurprising, seeing as I don't have this kind of relationship with Dumbbell-chan, no matter how many times I have managed to lift her in ways I'm still unable to lift Shizu.
But what I can do is to turn us both around until she's on all fours on her sofa and I'm on top of her, my chest flush against her back as I keep suckling on her neck and ear, massaging her bare breast, sliding two fingers along the space between her lower lips, gathering more and more moisture with every pass that culminates on tight circles around the yielding, round flesh atop the cusp of her sex.
I can make her squirm, moan, and whine.
And so I do.
She tries to move under me, as unconsciously seductive as ever when her hips, in tune with my fingers, drag along my cock, her breast being reshaped in my grasp when her chest pushes against my fingers with the erratic rhythm of her rough breath, of her muttered, needy 'Hachis,' of every sound of enjoyment I manage to get out of her throat that makes me thrill. That makes a part of me yearn to be unleashed and another to just hold her tighter, pulling myself harder against her, going still even as she gasps and throws her head back far enough for me to kiss her lips.
To stare at silver eyes, half-open, brighter than the city still waking behind the glass screen of her balcony.
"We really… shouldn't," she whispers before biting her lower lip.
"We really, really shouldn't," I say with a nod that digs my chin on her shoulder and has me as flush as I can against her half-covered back, my own sweaty shirt too much of a barrier between us.
So I, reluctantly, let her go.
I try not to smirk at the look of mournful abandonment that crosses her eyes when I do, and I don't delay in signaling to her what I'm actually about to do. Namely, to slowly, tantalizingly, pull my shirt off.
And… And just that? Just knowing that this is something that I can do? That my naked body is something that she yearns for rather than something I should be ashamed of? Looking at her as she stares at me, following the off-white cotton as it goes up and reveals more of my sweaty skin to her hungry eyes?
I… I feel…
I throw it off to an unseen corner of her living room and I stand up on her sofa, almost stumbling when my feet sink so deeply into the cushion below. But I can't stop. Not now. Not when my hands are by the side of my waistband, grabbing my own shorts, about to pull them down as Shizu stares at the obvious tent in front and holds her breath.
Not when I want to…
I pull them down, both shorts and boxers at once, and my trapped cock bends down, only showing the very base past dark pubes to her unblinking eyes. To the woman looking at me over her shoulder, still on all fours in front of me.
I pull lower.
My cock snaps up.
Her gaze bounces.
And, this time, I'm unable to hold back the smirk, even if it's also mingled with another kind of smile. One that trembles slightly at the corners while I watch her watching me, frozen in place, her eyes traveling across my naked body.
It's… It's easy to forget, at times. Easy to fall back on old habits. To think that I'm the creepy outcast of the classroom, the unwanted pariah, the guy who made a girl refuse her own returned eraser just because it was me picking it up.
Funny thing?
I don't even remember her.
I remember the scene. The story in my mind. The look of disgust. But her? The person?
She doesn't matter.
Shizu does. And Iroha. And Haruno. And, in other ways, Komachi, Zaimokuza, Yukino, Yui, Saika,… All of them. All the people I've come to know who won't throw me away. Who don't look at me with disgust except when it's part of a joking back and forth, when I lean into my own role.
When I… When I play the part of Hachiman Hikigaya, pariah and loner, the man who aspired to be a bear and now aspires to love and be loved.
"Shizu," I say with that growl that I first learned and discovered just for and because of her. When a stolen, rushed kiss turned my life around and—
"Hachi," she answers, meeting my eyes, her own flavor of maladaptive yearning plain to see.
It's… I don't know. It's part of her, and so I love it. I love her pain. I love the story that has brought her here, to me. To us.
But I love her, and so I'll also love seeing her healed.
And I'll do all in my power to get that day even a single second closer.
I kneel behind her, once again draped on top of her, and she hisses when my sweat slides against her own, our skin sticking and clinging where it doesn't brush past like a caress that I intend to offer her with my whole body.
"I love you," I tell her, again, unnecessarily. Because she knows. Because how can she not know when I look at her like I do, when I hold her with all my strength, when I struggle to be delicate in my hungry, desperate touches across her belly and chest?
It's unnecessary.
But very much needed.
Because… Because It's one thing to know, and another to live it.
I know that my… that some people love me.
I still need to live it.
And she… I'll give her everything she needs. Everything that she can take from me.
And I'll start by pulling her elastic, purple, tight shorts down her thighs.
"I… I really… You can't keep skipping classes…" she says even as her hips sway left to right as I tug her shorts, marveling at the way her flesh blossoms over the taut line of the waistband, the intimately obscene curves that follow the unveiling of her pale skin until I'm staring at a marvelous behind that is only covered by black, floral lace that I do recognize from the first time I visited her apartment and Haruno interrupted us with a phone call that would very likely precipitate plenty of things that came after.
It's darker where it covers her sex.
Where her scent comes from.
"I'm learning a lot right now," I mutter with a cheeky grin that doesn't fool anyone, least of all the woman smiling warmly at me, her cheeks red with what I would venture to be pleased embarrassment, or… or something softer and more tender.
Something that Iroha would endeavor to record.
"You're impossible," she tells me.
"I must be. How else could I be with someone like you?"
She rolls her eyes, the smile gaining a note of amusement, and… and I pull the shorts lower until I reach her knees, and I leave them there, a makeshift binding. A reminder that I never want her to run from me.
And that, if she tries, the results are likely to be hilarious. At least as hilarious as they were during our slow-motion chase up the stairs that had us recorded by a voyeuristic junior with too much kunoichi kitsune blood.
Her panties follow, and I leave them mid-thigh, another elastic binding digging an enticing line around her yielding flesh. Another reminder not to run.
I lean against her again, completely flush against her, only the back of her sports bra getting in the way of us touching as much as possible while my cock isn't inside of her.
She twists her neck farther back, and her lips search for mine, her tongue tracing a single line of wet desire between my own lips to get me to open them and answer her in kind, rushing out to meet her, to dance from one mouth to another without stopping even as I feel her fingers sliding between her thighs and grabbing my cock, repositioning me, dragging my tip up and down along her lower lips like her tongue on my mouth, pressing my glans against her clitoris until she shudders and the motion translates to unexpected, surprising pleasure that has me twitch forward, pressing harder still even as she moans into my mouth.
I pause, pulling away, staring into her eyes.
She pushes. Then pulls.
And I am right at her entrance. I am staring into glinting silver as she communicates something wordless that I desperately need, holding me in place, at the point of no return.
She… She lets go.
And keeps looking.
Slowly, I lean forward, just… just pressing my lips against hers in the lightest of caresses, neither of us closing our eyes, completely focused on the other, waiting to… to see how we look after… if there's any difference once…
I push.
The sides of her face show tense muscles framed by black hair even as she accepts me with the slightest resistance she can put up, just my tip breaching the scalding heat that I desperately crave for.
But her eyes…
Her eyes are the same.
Or, at least, they are until joy overtakes me and is reflected in pure silver, my lips pressing harder against her, my tongue rushing in to entice her own, to go back to our hungry kiss, except rather than unfulfilled yearning, there's precisely the opposite of it. There's… there's discovery, wonder, and…
Reciprocity.
That one thing I always craved. Even more than love itself. Because love can be many a thing, but… but to see oneself echoed in another's eyes, to see the acceptance that Shizu offers me, to…
Her body moves beneath mine as she shifts to cradle my cheek with one hand as she holds her weight in the other, the one buried in suspiciously grey fabric.
And I just stay like that, half inside of her, my lips against her own, my eyes on those of the first woman that I could show my love to. I just… breathe.
"Hachi…" she murmurs, my shortened name sending pure lighting rushing up my spine.
"Shizu," I tell her, hoping to give her back the same thing. Hoping that it will mean for her even half what it means for me.
She pushes back.
I sink inside her, past her folds, and she keeps moving even as the resistance increases, getting tighter and tighter as I go farther inside her until she pauses to take a deep breath, her back shifting under my chest when she does.
I cradle her free breast. Not with hunger and desire but with gentle reassurance. With the message that I will support her and care for her. That she doesn't have to force herself to do anything, much less in my stead.
Then I pull back. Slowly, tortuously. Both of us groan as I leave molten heat, and my now wet member is once again almost fully out of her, morning air much less welcoming than her pulsing folds.
I don't stay like that for long.
"Hachi!" she calls out when I push deeper than before, not fast but hard, my hands on her chest and belly holding her under me, steady as I move.
"Shizu," I reply once again, the heat inside of me rushing through my throat and riding on her name, conveying to her what she does to me merely by existing. By being the wonderful, impossible woman that turned my life around. That granted me the chance I had once desperately craved for, the new beginning that was truncated by a speeding car and a menace of a reckless dog too prone to slobbering on me.
A new beginning that she granted me by dragging me to that room where an ethereal beauty read a book by herself, alone under inadequate sunlight.
It's… too much. The rush of memory and lovemaking mingling inside of me, dragging all those emotions to the front of my mind, suffocating me with all the kinds of love I've felt since Shizu jokingly begged me to take her, and I took her at her word.
With friendship, and family, and Iroha, Haruno, and…
Shizu.
It could be different. The four of us could be here right now, each of us showing in our own way how we care, how we crave, how we desire. It could be different.
But it couldn't be more.
Her hand leaves the side of my face and presses up against mine on her breast, my fingers sinking deeper into her soft curves under her own strength, and I take the silent cue for what it is, pulling back and immediately pushing back in, farther inside of her, the pressure of her folds letting me past just that tad more of her, letting me feel as if I've conquered the strong, limber, seductive body I hold beneath me.
Letting me feel powerful for the single moment it takes me to recognize the absurdity, the incongruence. That I never conquered her. That I always was the one bespelled by my Christmas Cake teacher and her inadequate ramblings, her wise one-on-one lessons, and the silver in her eyes that is often steel.
So, I am hers.
And I give her everything that I can.
Another thrust forward, and I'm finally as deep inside her as I can go, my tip hitting something that makes her gasp, and, with her hold on me molded to utter perfection, I speed up, watching her face for any reaction that isn't pleasure and fulfillment. Staring at her eyes as they lid or widen when I press, or grind, or go as fast as my abused muscles can afford to.
I make love to her, yes, but I also study her, marveling at all the little things I still have yet to learn and memorize, at Shizu herself, her body and mind, reacting to my touch. To my insistent desire.
To the passion that threatens to drown even my capacity to do anything other than get drunk on her in a way that whisky can never compare to.
Then she arches her back, spasming around me, and the flash of pride that goes through me keeps me still as I admire the way that pleasure twists her features, bringing out something so pure that it may be ridiculous under any other circumstances even as she seems to be lit by something pouring from inside of her.
It doesn't last. Not enough. It just goes through her like a wave turning to seafoam hissing on the sand.
So I kiss her neck and caress her body, grinding up against her, trying to prolong her climax and all the little bursts of sensation still bubbling across her as she keeps arching back until we're both on our knees, upright, and—
And I fall.
I blink stupidly at a ceiling that I hope will soon become familiar, and I only manage to look down when something soft presses around my cock.
She's between my legs. Kneeling. Looking at me with burning eyes.
And my cock's pushing up between her breasts, behind a grey elastic band, past the cleavage of her askew sports bra.
"I… This brings back memories," I say despite the tightness in my throat.
"Except this time, Iroha isn't here to suck your dick from right between my breasts," she says with a dangerous glint rushing past silver eyes.
"That's… a pity?" I manage to croak out.
"Oh, I'm sure we can make do," she answers with a feral grin.
That, somehow, leads to me groaning, my eyes closed, and my head sunk into the sofa beneath me.
It's a struggle to change that state of affairs. To open my eyes and crane my head down despite the barrage of sensation assaulting me.
It's very much worth it.
Because there I see Shizu, still kneeling between my open legs, her hands pressing on the sides of her breasts, the one covered by stretchy fabric and the one bared by the pulled-down cup to show me her erect nipple. Her naked ass sways behind her, past the wild mane of black hair falling across her back and down her shoulders, the perfect curves moving side to side as she uses her whole body to drag her breasts up and down my cock, her own juices on my shaft making the motion smooth.
And my tip never gets out of her lips.
She smiles around me, meeting my eyes with a challenge that I'm eager to fail as her tongue dances around me, tracing the underside of my glans, strumming past my frenulum, tasting every drop of precum that I pulse into her mouth even as the heat inside of me changes and turns into something urgent pushing past the tight pressure at the base of my cock.
"Shizu, I… I can't," I try to warn her.
There's a loud slurping noise that echoes in her ample living room, and a string of saliva drips from the tip of her pink tongue to my shining glans, her eyes seemingly enraptured by what little of me is not wrapped in her cleavage before she looks up at me.
"Don't hold back," she says with a voice that has me struggling against the burning command. "Give it to me, Hachi. Cum for me."
"I—I want to… I want to make you cum—"
"Oh, you have more than—"
"More! I want to make you cum again and again, until I can't even move! I want you to be—I want you happy!" I tell her, struggling against the soft pressure of her breasts and the harsh one of my rushing orgasm, closing my eyes and my hands as tightly as I'm able.
She stops moving.
I… I open my eyes, and…
Reciprocity.
Love.
Shizu.
"I am happy," she says with a trembling voice that breaks my heart. "I am happier than I thought I would ever be after… You've given me so much back, so much that I thought I had lost…"
I bite my lip, trying to focus on the moment, on what those silver eyes of hers are telling me, and I barely manage to reach down to caress her cheek with the tips of my fingers.
"Then…" I say. "Then let me give you more. Let me give you as much as you deserve."
Her eyes burn in mine for a small eternity, one encompassed by the time it takes for a car driving past the park under her apartment building to brake at the traffic light and then start back again.
And, after that small eternity, her soft, gentle smile is back.
"All right," she whispers, barely louder than the fading car.
"All right?" I ask with a reverence that I've never felt in any temple.
"All right. Fine. But, just this time… I'll take it."
She cranes her head, and her lips engulf me once more, her body going from languid seduction to frantic stimulation as she sucks on me until her cheeks cave in and the insides of them caress my tip, her tongue going wild on me, demanding that I yield, that I give her what I've been trying to hold back.
With a shocked yell, I do.
It bursts out of me, and I can't stop it as the burning ecstasy flies through my shaft and into Shizu's accepting mouth, a muffled sound coming out of her right before she starts loudly swallowing even as I keep giving her the worst breakfast I've ever prepared in her home.
My hips shake under her breasts, my cock throbs between her lips, and I gasp, trying not to yell again even as she overwhelms me. As she pulls me right across a chasm I didn't know was there, flying through the void just for the chance to fall on her side. Just…
Another burst, and I…
I fall back on a sofa that, hopefully, will remain suspiciously grey rather than adopt another shade after Shizu and I keep desecrating it.
I'm sorry, Sofa-chan, I'll try to be more considerate when… Sometime.
Another time.
One in which I'm not trying not to lose my mind at Shizu slowly and methodically licking my softening cock clean in a disturbingly feline way that has me hiss and throw my arm on top of my eyes because I can't process anything other than her. Than Shizu…
Slowly crawling up my body and gently dropping on top of me.
I breathe, trying to steady myself, only to drown instead in the aroma of her, slightly different than how she smells right after she wakes up, a hint of salt drifting off her body that comes with her sweat and exertion as she also breathes raggedly on top of me, her hand once again flat on my chest while she burrows between me and the back of the sofa.
There's another small eternity, one not measured in the passage of cars.
And, at last, I manage to drop my arm away from my eyes, lean down, and kiss the top of her head.
She burrows into my chest with a pleased noise, and I hug her.
Then I fall back, look up at her ceiling…
And I wonder how appropriate it would be to joke that I already served her breakfast.
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