Chapter 18: I Wish I Didn’t Hate Myself Every Time I Look in a Mirror

---

“So,” she started, her beautiful voice stretching out the word into a melodic sigh, “when are you going to come out to your mom?”

Warm sunlight filtered in through the window blinds, a gentle reminder of Spring’s steady approach. The day was just beginning to wake alongside us, though the sun had gotten a much-earlier start. Idling together, Reika and I still lay in bed, letting time pass with little consequence or intrusion; a common-enough occurrence ⸺ at least, when we didn’t have school ⸺ my girlfriend and I were content to exist in one another’s space, my tigress taking up so much of the tiny mattress on my side of the room.

Despite a few-dozen chances for acclimation, I was still getting used to the ever-present intimacy of my girlfriends; never alone at night anymore, I spent my time either sleeping at the dorms with Reika wrapped around me, or sandwiched between my omega and my alpha in Saya’s room. I didn’t hate the constant companionship, but it was such a departure from my former life that I couldn’t rationalize my pleasant happenstance; I was beginning to feel like my life had taken an undeserved turn, showering me with a good fortune that I wasn’t supposed to possess.

I had spent so long living such a miserable existence, that it had somehow become part of me. Without that ever-present loneliness, that starving isolation, I felt a little less like “myself”, the concept of loss so firmly-ingrained in my sense of self that I was almost sad to see it slowly evaporate. My two girlfriends had been dedicated in patching over the holes in my heart, but a gaping nothing still wound around my core, and paradoxically I was scared of ridding myself of it.

I’d spent two decades crying over my misfortune, and yet now, in the deepest recesses of my heart, I refused to accept my romantic windfall.

Self-loathing had always been my strong suit, I supposed, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“I don’t know,” I responded quietly, after having given Reika’s question a chance to marinate. I could see the need for honesty, in some capacity, but I struggled with the idea of how to reconcile my fantastical story with my relationship to my mother. I valued the latter so much more than the idea of being open with the former ⸺ enough that I might’ve been willing to lie by omission for the rest of our lives. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell her.”

Hugging me tightly against her chest, my gyaru played big-spoon the way she always did, nuzzling the side of her face against my own. “You don’t think she has a right to know?” she asked innocently, devoid of malice or accusation. “Since you’ve stolen the place of her little girl.”

Proposing an ontological nightmare, my girlfriend’s assertion was difficult to handle. Of course, my mother had always been my mother, both versions of her indistinguishable from the other, but there had been a moment when I was five or six years old, where I had transformed from a “normal” kid into a reincarnated thirty-seven-year-old woman in a child’s body. From my mother’s perspective, it had to have been a noticeable and worrying change; though she’d clearly handled the shock well, our pre-Valentine’s conversation had let the game slip, my mom confessing to her constant apprehension regarding my mental state.

“What would I even say?” I shot back, perhaps a little too defensively. “There’s no good words for explaining to my mother that the two of us are the same age, or that I remember dying, or that I … ⸺ well. Y’know.” Suddenly uncomfortable, I squirmed in her grasp.

“Killed yourself?” Reika added bluntly, ploughing through my oblique shield, exposing my complicated vulnerability.

“Yeah,” I sighed, feeling so cold despite the relatively-warm March morning. “No mother wants to hear that her child was so miserable, that she decided to just end everything.”

I could feel her chagrin in the charred haze of flower candy that enveloped us, Reika’s empathetic response revealing something I knew she wanted to keep hidden. “No, I can’t imagine they would,” she agreed somberly, her mood sinking down to my low level.

Bothered by such disquieting introspection, I deflected the question back to my gyaru, dragging her own life into it. “What about you?” I asked, regretting my words even as I began to speak them, cognizant of the harm it might cause my lover. “Are you going to tell my mom? Or Saya’s moms, too, I guess.”

“I have no idea,” she echoed, exactly as miserable as I assumed she’d be. “It’s such a weird conversation to have, right? Like, ‘hey, I know I’m dating your daughter, but I’m also like forty-something mentally,’ or something like that.” Rolling onto her back, she relaxed her hold, squeezing me in a one-armed hug against her side. Setting the back of her hand over her eyes, she hid her ruby-red orbs from the morning light. “Or maybe I’m not all that mature, and I’m still just a JK with a bunch of weird, mostly-forgotten memories jammed into her head ⸺ but it’s not like that’s any easier to explain, either.”

The riddle of Reika had not been such a simple puzzle to solve, no matter how many times our little polycule had taken a try at it. We had precious-few facts to anchor our theorizing, and most of those were drenched in a thick layer of conjecture at best; without the tall blonde being able to clearly identify any landmarks of her consciousness, the three of us might have had a better chance at trying to decipher the Voynich manuscript.

Drawn to that miserable dream of the past from several nights prior, I considered the phantom’s words; it had called Reika a “comrade in despair”, implying something sinister about my gyaru’s past life. I couldn’t deny that it had a point; if Reika was in a similar situation to myself, then there was no reason that her existence on the previous timeline had been anything resembling a happy experience. The reaper had said the policy was for the “unquiet dead”, a descriptor that fit my own death so well ⸺ but where had that left Reika? Or, for that matter, what about Sensei?

The voice’s accusations had decried the same point, insisting that it deserved its own second chance, as steeped in regret as it had been. But was there any truth to its assertion? It wasn’t Sensei, not really, instead something more akin to the ghost of his memory than anything else ⸺ or at least, my subconscious interpretation of the self-same idea. Perhaps I was projecting, simply foisting my desires to see Sensei onto the harsh reality of our deaths, creating a longing that wasn’t mutual.

Maybe I was the only one who truly had any regrets, too immature or self-centered to properly move on to the land of the dead; even as selfish as Sensei had been, his remarkable character might have had a better sense of responsibility than my own. Faced with the idea of reincarnation, perhaps he’d met it with resignation, choosing instead to dutifully cross over to the other side of the river.

I’m doing it again, I sighed inwardly, berating myself. I’m supposed to be thinking about Reika, and yet here I am, obsessing over Sensei.

The two had become inextricably linked in my mind, separable only on the barest lines of gender ⸺ and perhaps not even that, if Reika had been correct in her assumptions. So many of their mannerisms reminded me of the other, as though they’d been raised alongside each other, collecting the same set of bad habits and nuanced eccentricities.

Well, except for the smoking ⸺ she might act like a delinquent, but I knew Reika didn’t smoke. In all the nights we’d spent together in the dorm, I’d never seen a pack of cigarettes or a lighter anywhere near her.

A more-likely solution was that I had been projecting my obsession outward, overlaying it onto Reika’s form and behavior, working out some sick fantasy on my girlfriend. The more I thought about it, the brighter that glimmer of truth shined, until I began to grow disgusted with myself.

“Which do you see yourself as?” I tried hesitantly, forcing myself to stay out of my own thoughts, distracting my worried mind by prying into the internal workings of my lover. Cuddling in closer to her side, I laid my head on her shoulder, examining her expression. “Between a highschool girl, or like, whoever you used to be.”

“I don’t know,” she answered glumly, dissatisfaction hissing between her teeth in an exasperated sigh. “I mean, I don’t really feel like either thing ⸺ not down deep, you know? Like, in my chest.” Removing her hand from her eyes, she tapped her fingers against the middle of her ribcage, low in the valley of her cleavage. “In here, in my heart, I feel like something else; I don’t really feel like a girl, but I can’t remember enough of some other ‘me’ to feel like them, either.”

“How do you mean, about not being a girl?” I probed, digging even further into her inner conflict, dragging out whatever she had been suffering against. “You’re like, the girliest girl I know ⸺ way more than me and Saya.”

“It’s hard to explain,” she grimaced, a lurking frustration in her morose baritone. Lifting her hand, she stretched it out towards the ceiling, as though there were something there, some essential piece of herself, that she struggled to grasp. “I mean, I want to be a girl, and I try my hardest to be one, but I just … ⸺ I feel like I’m play-acting. Like, I’m only mimicking the behaviors of a real person, but there’s so much I’m missing that it doesn’t all add up.”

Concerned for my girlfriend, I felt bad for yanking her down to this level. “So, what do you feel like?” I started again, trying a different angle. “What identity, what part of yourself, are you absolutely sure of?”

Giving my question some serious thought, Reika let the moment stretch out between us. Resting her arm against her chest, I watched as it rose and fell in steady rhythm, my gyaru contemplating the fundamental aspects of her character. Crackling around us, the mist of flower candy sparked with concerning energy, clouding the atmosphere of the room.

“I guess, like, I know I’m an omega,” she answered after a long minute, sounding not-entirely pleased with her answer. “That’s the one thing I’m confident in: that I’m an omega, and I love my alpha very dearly.” Smiling slightly, she turned her head, offering me a flirtatious look. “Both of them.”

“Assuming I’m an alpha,” I grumbled, unsure of how her answer made me feel.

Reika’s conflicting ideas surrounding her identity mirrored my own; our adolescent growing pains had less to do with our bodies, instead focused much further-inward than that. “Growing up”, for the two of us, meant reaching for an unassailable truth about ourselves, uncovering our desires and goals and dreams ⸺ and how that defined us.

Just as Reika struggled to become the beautiful girl I knew her to be, I felt unmoored in my own self-image, and just as perplexed regarding my body. My gyaru knew herself to be an omega, but what was I?

Whenever I was with Reika, it had felt so natural to play the part of a top, assuming the role of alpha in Saya’s absence ⸺ and yet, every time I was alone with Saya, or the three of us were together, I had been thrilled to occupy space as another omega, indulging in the vicious affection of my taller, stronger, more-dominant mate. Even when I’d had Reika pinned to the bed, attacking her with the strap, it still felt like a form of play, rather than genuine power-imbalance; Reika could free herself from my grasp at any time, allowing me the mantle of alpha, rather than accepting something that should’ve already been there, possessed of its own self-evidence.

“Either way is fine with me,” Reika intoned sincerely, professing her affection through honest admission. “I’ve been saying this from the beginning, Rucchan, but you’re important to me ⸺ and I love all of you, every part.” Facing me, she turned back onto her side again, holding my gaze with her ruby-red eyes. “As much as I’d be thrilled to have you as my alpha, I’d be just as happy if you were an omega ⸺ maybe even happier, honestly.”

A shocking assertion, I hadn’t been prepared for such a sweet answer, or all that it implied. “How do you figure?” I asked, unable to reconcile my gyaru’s present nonchalance against her fervent desire to have me claim her whenever we fucked. “I thought you were really invested in me being an alpha.” Blushing profusely, I looked away, recalling a certain memory. “You even said all that stuff about having kids together.”

“And I’d still like all that,” she replied, accepting my ridiculous pouting, “but as much as I love you, I care about Sayacchi just the same.” Her sultry baritone growing softer, she drew me in with her words, as though our current intimacy wasn’t yet secluded enough to whisper her secret adoration. “I know what she thinks about, when she imagines the two of you together; it’s painfully-obvious in the way she marks you, and how she looks at you.” A conspiratorial grin spread across the mask of her face, Reika delighting in stirring-up trouble. “She wants you to be her omega so bad. Like, yeah, she and I have a nice thing going, but it’s not the same ⸺ she’s been dreaming about being your mate the entire time I’ve known her. Hell, she’s probably felt that way her whole life, patiently waiting for her chance to mark her childhood friend.”

“Yeah?” I squeaked, melting under the romantic weight of her revelation.

“Yeah,” she breathed, her long lashes blinking slowly, like the beautiful wings of a butterfly at rest. “And more than that, she fantasizes about you marking her.” A sadness crept into her smile, Reika’s tone becoming ever-more melancholy. “If it came down to it, and she had to make that choice, I know she’d pick you over me ⸺ and that’s fair, right? With how long you two have been together.”

As much as she pretended to be secure in a feeling of compersion, I wasn’t an idiot: I could sense the hesitance in her pheromones, the part of her that was irritated by her selfishness, wanting to claim both mine and Saya’s affections for her own.

The ultimate expression of love for an omega, the permanent mark wasn’t something that could be given lightly ⸺ or more than once, either. My ambush of gyarus assured me that they’d be willing to share everything, but that promise deliberately excluded such a jealous question of dramatic metamorphosis.

“Let me turn the question back on you,” Reika persisted, prying into my life in the same way that I’d done to her. “Regardless of what Sayacchi or I want you to be, what do you see yourself as?” Running her hand along my shoulder, she pet me affectionately, gifting me the security of her touch. “Do you want to be an omega, or do you wanna be an alpha?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly, already having considered my options in exacting detail. “After the moment we’d had together on the Ferris wheel, I had thought I was sure which I wanted ⸺ but when I think about Saya, or Runa, it’s hard to want to give up the idea of having a family together.”

My risky-sex kink aside, it was impossible not to imagine the implied domesticity of being the omega mate to either of the Ichikawa sisters. Perhaps another symptom of my years of loneliness, or maybe a mistaken desire to want to live the husband-and-kids life that my mom had wished for her daughter, my thoughts were often drawn to the blissful security of being a housewife and mother. It was hard to deny the attraction of such a lifestyle, a reality where I would be surrounded on all sides by love: from my mate, from my children, from my mother’s pride at having such wonderful grandchildren.

It was a pathetic assumption, rooted in the social pressures of my past ⸺ but regardless of how hard society pushed for the hurry-up-and-have-babies demands on a woman’s life, I couldn’t deny that some small part of me was enamored with the idea. Obviously, I harbored no mistaken illusions about “doing my part”, but the warmth and satisfaction of such a life was eminently appealing.

Still … ⸺ it felt like an escape. As lonely as I was, looking to ease that burden by foisting it onto the shoulders of my potential offspring felt like a betrayal, and something I shouldn’t be so happy to plan for as an inevitability.

“Sayacchi or Runapi?” Reika laughed, playfully mocking my selfishness, driving away the developing stormcloud of unkind thoughts.

“I can get worse than that, believe me,” I growled, annoyed by how right she was to chastise me. “I could’ve put an ‘and’ in there, instead.”

“I’m sure,” she purred, delighting in my torment. “I’m dying to know what that fucked-up little fantasy looks like in your head ⸺ but I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t be into it, myself.” Chuckling amusedly, she reached out, running her fingers through my hair. “It’s kinda hot, y’know, imagining you in the middle of a sisterly spitroast.”

Blushing pink all the way to the tips of my ears, I covered my face in shame. “You can never tell Saya,” I begged her, knowing full-well that my insistence would just make my contrary gyaru want to tattle even more.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too, then,” she cackled, perceiving the deepest depths of my fantasies with a startling clarity. As smug as a sunbathing cat, she pressed further, dragging out my miserable eros. “What’s the setup, there? Consecutively? Concurrently? One in each hole?”

Shielding my face with my fingers, I guiltily peeked out from between them. “The same hole,” I muttered, both mortified and perversely-excited by the verbal airing of my private thoughts. “Like, y’know … ⸺ like they’re trying to race each other.”

“Oh my god,” Reika laughed, the bed shaking under the throes of her mirth. “Are you in heat?” Eyeing me lasciviously, she raked me over the coals I’d stoked myself. “I’ve asked Sayacchi to do some pretty risqué stuff, sure, but I don’t know if I’m twisted enough to ask her to have a breeding contest with her older sister.”

“I’m never going to tell her!” I shrieked, snuggling up against my behemothic omega, as though I could hide from her inside her own shadow. “It’s just a fantasy, okay? I’m allowed to have those.”

Writhing in bed next to my gyaru, I was practically dying of embarrassment.

“The thing is,” Reika chuckled, unwilling to let the matter drop, and thereby save me from my own humiliation, “is that Sayacchi wants you badly enough that she might actually agree to it, if you begged her.”

“I am never doing that,” I swore, perishing under the mere thought of attempting such a bold gesture. “I think I would probably rather die, than have her find out.”

“Die again,” Reika corrected, teasing me with a dark humor.

“It’s all just fantasy,” I protested, perhaps a little too insistently to be believable.

“Sure,” my girlfriend agreed, her tone suggesting that she did, in fact, know better.

“Like, I know I said all that stuff about wanting to have a family,” I continued, evading her prosecution by swiftly banking the conversation over into a related tangent, “but it’s not like kids are necessary for a relationship, right? Plenty of people can lead happy lives without getting pregnant ⸺ ‘family’ doesn’t need to be anything more than you and your mate, when it comes down to it.”

“True,” she admitted, following me down into my distraction, “and Runapi would probably agree with you, but I don’t think Sayacchi would be very thrilled. Whenever we talk about the future, she’s always going on about waiting till after university to have kids ⸺ and not with me, mind you.” Her glare lacked animosity, but it was a hard look nonetheless. “If something happened and she couldn’t get you pregnant, like … ⸺ I don’t know. I think it would crush her.”

A heavy burden settled onto my shoulders, my gyaru saddling me with the uncomfortable knowledge of Saya’s own fantasizing. Of course, I hadn’t been entirely ignorant to her plans ⸺ or at least, I wasn’t so clueless anymore, not now that I retrospectively understood the sincerity with which she played house with me as children. Having kids of our own wasn’t necessary (or, perhaps, even desirable) for a fulfilling relationship, but I could imagine the look on my tigress’s face if I ever told her that I was going to have her cubs; depressingly-enough, I knew it would be the cutest she’d ever be: a mute embarrassment at war with a self-satisfied pride, her patronly thrill writ large across her visage, reflected in her loving embrace.

I longed to see that spark in her eyes, even as I recoiled from the overwhelming responsibility. We were highschoolers, for fuck’s sake; this wasn’t the time to be thinking about all the ways in which I could permanently ruin our lives.

“It’s all so frustrating,” I huffed, lifting a hand to wave away the imaginary scroll of our futures, playing out in front of me as it had been for the last several minutes. “Being young again is like, all these possibilities are spread out in front of us ⸺ but no matter which one of them I reach for, I know I’m going to regret not stretching my hand out to something else.”

Choosing one thing, after all, always meant the abandonment of another.

“I’d be happy if I could pick a path that doesn’t fuck everything up,” I continued, a bitter chagrin dancing on the sharp words that slipped off my tongue, “but the precedent for that is grim.”

“Yeah,” Reika agreed, nodding her assent. “You’re kind of garbage at making life choices.”

“You don’t need to point it out, too,” I huffed, wounded by the directness of her criticism, even though it was a rather salient observation. Sighing again, I blew out a tortured breath, trying to relax all my rattled nerves. “Saya said the same thing, too ⸺ she’s not going to sit idly by and let me choose my own path, not anymore.”

“That’s probably for the best, honestly,” Reika allowed, saying aloud what I was already thinking. “I don’t know if I want to condone that level of dependency, maybe, but you definitely need a firm hand.”

“And a firm rod,” I muttered, annoyed at myself with how erotic I found the instruments of punishment to be. “And I mean that metaphorically, and also, like, lewdly, for the record.”

“Noted,” she smiled, letting whatever taunt had been building in her mind die on her lips, saving me the embarrassment. “I, too, can find no fault with our alpha’s, uh, equipment.”

As always, Reika preferred understatement to hyperbole, but I’d been in the middle of our threesomes enough now to understand the zealotry of my gyaru’s devotion to our alpha’s cock. Describing it as “worship” might’ve been going a little too far, but the tall blonde had never once complained about being made to kneel and offer lip-service.

From Saya’s point of view, my shorter gyaru had certainly described our girlfriend’s prayer as “divine,” the glowing praise making me curious about how much practice in technique Reika had picked up in her previous incarnation.

“Is that what I want, then?” I thought aloud, using my lover as a sounding-board. “Is it cowardice, if I let myself become Saya’s omega ⸺ or is it, like, acceptance of the natural course of the world?”

“I don’t know if boning your childhood friend can be considered a universal truth or not,” Reika chuckled, “but I’m not against it either way. Like I said, I’d be happy if you were to become my alpha, but I’d be just as thrilled to be in the same harem.”

Smiling knowingly, I gently elbowed her in the ribs. “You cannot call it a harem in front of Saya. She already feels enough guilt over whether she’s meeting all our needs or not; she doesn’t need you spreading unfair aspersions of her character.”

“I would never,” Reika laughed, pretending that I’d wounded her pride, as she splayed a hand over her chest. “As a proper young lady, I comport myself with only the utmost decorum.”

“Then ‘comport’ yourself out of bed,” I giggled alongside her, wriggling around as I tried to right myself. “It’s about time we started getting ready.”

 

---

 

Today was Sunday, our day off from school; a precious moment of freedom, I cherished it even more these days, now that I had two gorgeous women to spend it with. Deciding to make the most of our time, the three of us had planned to meet up for a group date.

It was a strange proposition, in a way, having a “group” activity where I was already dating both of the other girls in attendance. Beyond that, the mere premise was flawed: if we all hung out together, how was that any different from our normal after-school hangouts? All three of us had been holding hands and having sex before our new appellation as girlfriends, too; what, then, was left to distinguish these moments together as a “date”, and not just a continuation of our pre-dating lives?

“So, like, what are you supposed to do in a relationship?” I asked, broaching the question to my gyaru.

The two of us stood together in front of the sink, crowded around the mirror that Reika had transformed into an astonishing approximation of a true vanity. Arranged purposefully on the counter were a handful of various cosmetics, the application of which were vaguely familiar to me, though I was insecure in my practice.

Reika’s makeup routine skipped a few steps that I would’ve considered overboard for a couple of highschool girls, but she’d insisted on moisturizer and primer regardless of my protests. As far as my gyaru was concerned, I was going to follow along in dolling ourselves up for our alpha, whether I wanted to or not. Fortunately, that seemed to focus largely on superficial touches, which suited me just fine; I would’ve been miserable trying to fiddle with a layer of foundation, but some mascara and eyeliner was easy-enough to handle on my own.

“What do you mean, ‘what do you do’?” she laughed, endlessly amused by my naivety.

“I don’t know!” I whined, frustrated by her dismissal of my concern. “I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with, y’know, dating or whatever ⸺ much less dating an alpha.”

“So it’s like, the whole concept of dating that has you confused?” she giggled, delighting in prolonging the discussion of my misfortune, echoing my misery back to me.

“Well, yeah,” I admitted bashfully, acutely aware of how stupid I must sound. “Like, this is supposed to be the ‘next level’ in our relationship or whatever, right? But I don’t know where we’re supposed to be going, or like … ⸺ how to keep Saya interested in me, I guess.”

It was a ridiculous fear, but it crawled around the back of my mind regardless. I knew I was a total amateur at dating, and I had long worried that my fumbling inexperience would come across as insincerity, or perhaps boredom; given my incredible ability to torpedo everything else in my life, I couldn’t trust myself to just ‘wing it’ when it came to my intimate relationships.

After all, I’d already ruined everything I’d had with Runa; if I was capable of fucking it all up with one sister, then I could absolutely do the same for the other ⸺ especially when I had Reika to compare myself against.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Reika said reproachfully, pushing back against my relentless self-loathing. “But if it’s weighing on your mind, like, why not just text her about it? I know it probably sounds like a crazy idea to you, but talking to other people is generally how you maintain a relationship.”

Glaring at her, I distracted my hands by sifting through the numerous eye-shadow palettes my gyaru had set out, pretending that I’d be able to select the right one on my own. “Just because it’s obvious, doesn’t mean it’s easy,” I insisted, feeling petulant. “Talk about what? Text her what? Every time I open my Lime app, my mind just turns completely blank.”

“It’s not like I have a handle on what’s best, either,” she responded, evading my questions. “It’s just, like, whenever I find myself thinking about Sayacchi, I just text her whatever’s on my mind.” Unlocking her phone, she slid it across the counter, setting it in front of me. “I don’t know if it’ll help at all, but you’re free to take a look.”

Feeling a little guilty about poking through someone else’s private conversations, I nevertheless took the phone anyway. Scrolling through her message history with Saya, I quickly picked up the gist of their favorite texting topics.

“This is, like, all dick pics,” I squeaked, making an unkind face.

“Not all of it,” Reika insisted, jabbing the screen with one perfectly-manicured finger. “See? I asked her what she thought I should have for dinner.”

“Yeah,” I snipped, still glaring at her, “and her reply right after that is another dick pic.” Annoyingly, I had to admit that it was a wonderful image, the principle subject framed perfectly against our alpha’s toned abs.

Shrugging her shoulders, my gyaru brushed off my complaints as though they had nothing to do with her. “I can’t be held responsible for our alpha’s sense of humor,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Or her libido?” I added helpfully, finishing her excuse.

“Oh, no, I’m definitely at fault for that,” she giggled, offering me a conspiratorial (if smug) smile. “Scroll up a little more, and see for yourself.”

“That’s alright,” I mumbled, turning off the screen, “I think I understand where this is going.”

“That’s your loss,” she pouted, pretending to be hurt by my dismissal. “I spent a lot of time on those photos, y’know? They’re all pretty good.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” I allowed, the conversation rapidly slipping away from my control, “but I don’t know if pictures of cocks and a handful of titty-selfies are really teaching me anything useful about communication.”

“A picture paints a thousand words,” Reika replied, shrugging her way through one of her obscure aphorisms; again, she reminded me of Sensei, and his fondness for the same linguistic devices. “I’m not saying you need to spend all your time sexting Sayacchi ⸺ but it couldn’t hurt any, if you wanna give it a try every once in a while.”

Side-eying my gyaru’s behemothic thighs and enormous rack, a jealous retort built on my tongue. “I don’t know that I have anything worth sending,” I sighed, feeling like a pitiful second-place when set next to the astonishing beauty of my omega.

“Now I know that’s not true,” she snapped back, unwilling to allow my discharity towards myself. “You are half the reason I get so many cock-shots from Sayacchi, especially before we all started dating. I swear to god it was like, every day that she was texting me to go rut with her, after you kept winding her up all the damn time.”

“How?” I scoffed in disbelief, unamused by her playful assertions.

“I don’t know,” she shot back, fiddling with the cap on her eyeliner. “Maybe it was your big blue eyes, or your cute smile, or your incredible ass.” Pretending disaffection, she laid out her compliments in the same way she’d read out a grocery list. “Or maybe childhood-friend pheromones just hit different.”

“Charmer,” I muttered, my cheeks growing hot.

“I just call them like I see them,” she replied, unbothered.

Clutching the eyeliner pen in her right hand, Reika leaned in close to the mirror, opening her eyes wide. With a practiced delicacy, she pressed the nails of her left hand into the skin of her lower eyelid, just beneath the lashes; holding the lid steady with a gentle pressure, she swiped the pen along the tip of her nails, precisely painting the line. Inverting her grip, she did the same for her upper lid, expertly creating a beautiful winged look, deftly utilizing the most insane technique I had ever seen in my life.

Stunned, I simply stared at her, mouth agape; it took her a little bit of time to notice, my gyaru totally oblivious as to the source of my surprise.

“What?” she asked flatly, a hint of concern in her soft baritone. “Do I have something on my face?”

“N-no,” I babbled, stumbling over my words, “I’ve just, uh, never seen anyone apply eyeliner like that.” Swallowing hard, I grappled with the mechanics of whatever it was I’d just witnessed. “It’s very novel.”

“Ohhh,” she gasped, understanding immediately. Wiggling one long, slender finger, she drew a circle around her eye. “It’s kinda freakish, right?”

“I wasn’t going to put it like that,” I sputtered, trying to be understanding.

“It’s fine,” she laughed, waving away my apprehension. “I know it looks ridiculous, but I have to do it like this ⸺ on account of the fact that I can’t, y’know, see what I’m doing.”

Having assumed that her face-blindness was more a problem of memory than it was perception, I realized that I hadn’t truly understood the extent of her bizarre issue until this moment. Even if she couldn’t recognize faces, I’d thought surely that she could distinguish the individual pieces of facial anatomy; instead, it seemed Reika’s explanation of being unable to see even her own eyes had been, in fact, quite literal.

“How did you even learn how to do that?” I asked, morbidly fascinated by the process.

“It took a lot of effort,” she agreed, concentrating on applying the liner to her other eye. “I used to poke myself in the eye a lot when I first started doing it; that, or I’d smear the ink everywhere and not notice.” Smiling to herself as though it were a pleasant memory, and not a profoundly-uncomfortable experience, she flashed me a wide grin. “Saeko had to help me out a lot in the beginning, at least until I figured out what I was doing.”

Turning back to the mirror, she set down the liner, reaching instead for the eyeshadow, as though nothing were amiss.

Chewing on my lower lip, I fretted over whether I should point out her mistake; there was only tragedy to be gained, but I found myself speaking up anyway.

“Reika,” I started softly, concern and contrition lacing my words, “who did you say helped you?”

Her smile vanished in an instant, replaced with a tired affect. “I did it again, didn’t I?” she sighed, entirely unaware of the worrying admission she’d unconsciously buried in her anecdote.

Concerned for her emotional well-being, I launched into the start of an increasingly-familiar argument. “Why don’t you just go talk to her?” I suggested, turning my gyaru’s advice back on her.

“And say what?” she snapped defensively, bristling with a rudely-awoken understanding of her own flaws. “I don’t even know which version of her I’m talking about.”

These tiny breaks in her memory were becoming more and more common, her past life and her younger days blurring together in a confusing mess. Clearly, Reika had known Saeko-san in both of her lives, but in entirely different contexts; bereft of any landmarks, there was no way to separate out which memories belonged to which timeline. Though she wouldn’t say it aloud, her pain was obvious in her body language, simmering in the frustrated aura of her pheromones. Humiliated by her show of weakness, my gyaru sank into herself, closing off from me.

“I’ve already told her about what’s going on with me,” I said, trying to console her wounded pride. “If you were honest with her ⸺”

“What would that even accomplish?” she hissed, her emotions running hot, fighting against a hint of angry tears that threatened to ruin her freshly-applied makeup. “It’d just make everything awkward for her, if I dropped my stupid fuck-ups in her lap. She already has a girlfriend ⸺ or a husband, I guess.” Grimacing bitterly, she spat out a hollow approximation of a laugh. “I don’t even know which one of her I’m supposed to be in love with.”

No matter which Saeko-san it was that Reika remembered, neither of them belonged to her, and she was acutely aware of that fact. At the very least, it offered a reasonable explanation for why she hated Sensei so much; in that past life, it had to have been miserable seeing Saeko-san fall in love with someone else, watching the days steadily pass as they flirted with each other after hours, or at work parties.

“I’m just some girl she used to know from work,” Reika muttered, clenching her hands into fists, enraged by her own powerlessness. “Whatever we had between us is gone, now; she’s the only one who even knows what happened in the first place.”

“Reika,” I tried again, hoping to shoulder some of her burden, or offer her some soothing words.

“Y’know,” she interrupted, changing the subject before I could press the matter any further, “I don’t actually mind it ⸺ not being able to see my eyes, I mean.” Trading one misery for another, my girlfriend chose to bury her feelings yet again.

Exasperated by her behavior, I knew there wasn’t any point in pushing her. As much as I wanted her to finally broach the subject with the school nurse, trying to force her to do something would only make her more obstinate. Stubborn and strong-willed, I’d have an easier time getting a horse to drink a lake ⸺ or whatever it was that Sensei always said, providing advice in the form of inscrutable proverbs.

“Why not?” I sighed, giving in.

“Because I used to hate looking at myself,” she answered without missing a beat, returning to the task of layering her eyeshadow. Unaffected by her own dismal story, she pressed on, as though she were simply recounting something she’d read online. “It’s funny, I don’t even remember what I looked like ⸺ but I know I hated seeing my reflection.”

Though I tended towards self-destruction as my own coping mechanism, my gyaru wasn't much better in that regard. Certainly, it took a great deal more effort to push her to the edge, the tall blonde staying stubbornly in-control even under the most vitriolic abuse, but she had her limits like anyone else. When it came to Saeko-san, she always hit her tolerance level far too soon, revealing the severe degree of the nurse's importance in Reika's life.

Unwilling to project her fury outwards, as I always did, my gyaru happily turned inwards, heaping violence on herself. In a perverse form of verbal cutting, she lamented her failings in intimate detail, voicing her private misery in the same pressure-venting process as a steam engine exploding due to a mismanaged boiler. Not even stopping to acquire my consent, she began her wretched ritual, indulging in exhibitionistic flagellation.

If she must be made to hurt, went her logic, then it would be better to cause the wounds herself, rather than dwell on a source of pain she couldn't control.

“What, like, a vampire?” I asked, seeking to inject some levity into the moment, before Reika could spiral any further.

“No, not like a vampire,” she chuffed, covering her self-loathing with the barest acknowledgement of my joke. “Vampires don’t reflect in mirrors.”

“I knew that, probably,” I smiled, happy enough to distract her from herself. “Zombies are the ones that don’t like looking in mirrors.”

Caught off-guard by my bizarre conjecture, she turned away from the mirror, forgetting her makeup entirely. “Zombies?” she echoed, stupefied by my ostensible non-sequitur. “Why would zombies hate looking in mirrors?”

“Because it reminds them that they’re dead,” I answered solemnly, dipping my head in sagacious nodding, like an elder dispensing wisdom.

It was patently absurd, a pointless joke in the middle of a serious conversation, but that’s exactly what we needed. The heavy atmosphere didn’t dissipate, but it at least receded slightly, as the room filled with the beautiful sound of Reika’s laughter.

“That’s not even funny,” she giggled, abandoning her earlier malice.

“Then why are you smiling?” I grinned, declaring victory, small though it was.

A long moment passed between us, as silence settled into the room once more. Several minutes crept by, an uncomfortable heaviness still pervading the air. Focusing entirely on her makeup, my girlfriend was content to let the matter drop entirely; bringing it up again would only belabor the point, aggravating her further.

As much as I wanted to protect her from further harm, it didn’t seem healthy to continue to allow her to deflect and delay. At some point, she would have to confront the issue of her past, and her feelings for Saeko-san; unfortunately, I couldn’t be the arbiter of when that should happen. It would be hypocritical to demand that of Reika, when I wasn’t willing to commit to the same level of introspection.

Burying our pasts together, we settled on a different avenue of conversation.

“You know, Reika,” I began hesitantly, still wary of her last outburst, “sometimes I feel like you know more about being a girl than I do.”

“That’s a weird way to put it,” she smiled, communicating her gratitude for the distraction in the faint scent of flower candy, steadily blossoming between us.

“I’m serious!” I continued obstinately, committing to the bit. “Like, you know a million things I don’t. You know all this stuff about makeup, and how to date, and about omegas and alphas.”

“Yeah, well,” she mumbled, blushing slightly, “I’ve just spent more time practicing to be a girl than you did, I suppose.”

“Now that’s a weird way to put it,” I shot back at her, sticking out my tongue. “How are you supposed to practice being something that you already are?”

Fixing me with a flat look, she expressed her displeasure in one knowing glance. “You know how,” she returned, a strained bitterness in her voice. “This is probably the first chance I’ve ever gotten to actually be one, and I intend to make the most of it.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” I argued, not really sure what I was trying to accomplish.

“Neither of us know for sure,” she sighed, frustrated. “That’s the whole problem, what with my shitty memory and everything.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered sullenly, inwardly berating myself for my behavior; it seemed no matter what I tried, I kept bringing us back around to everything Reika wanted to avoid.

“It’s fine,” she lied graciously, absolving me of my sins. “Let’s just talk about something else ⸺ something that’s not me.”

“What about Saya?” I suggested, settling on a topic that couldn’t loop back to anything uncomfortable.

“What about Saya?” she prompted, struggling to stay out of her own thoughts.

“Well, if I’m going to be an omega, I guess I just … ⸺ I don’t know.” Waving my hand in a circular motion, I indicated the totality of our lives. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Is this the dating thing again?” she chuckled, catching me in my own trap. “You think too much, Rucchan.”

“Yeah, okay, but I’m still serious about it,” I muttered, unsure of what I was trying to ask. “I want to do a good job, y’know? Saya is always sticking her neck out for me, and she’s so dedicated to being an alpha ⸺ I want to reward her effort, somehow.” Fumbling the whole thing, I tapped my fingers together, irritated with my own inexperience.

“You’ve already figured out half of it,” she shrugged. “You stick your neck out for her enough in return, figuratively speaking.” Grinning, she drew a finger down the length of her throat, indicating the collection of bruises that normally constituted our alpha’s reward.

“So then what’s the other half?” I pouted, persistent in my desire to be better than I was.

Smirking like she knew something I didn’t, she delighted in holding her superior position over my head. “We’re already doing it,” she explained, pointing generally at all the cosmetics. “I’m not saying an omega has to be a girly-girl ⸺ I mean, you’ve seen Sayacchi’s Mama, obviously ⸺ but the key to making a meal truly appetizing is just as much in how you plate it, as it is how good it smells.”

“So being a good omega is just, like, dressing nice?” I tried, poorly synthesizing the information she’d presented to me.

“More or less,” Reika nodded. “I mean, it’s not just clothes and makeup, though those help ⸺ it’s also about being available, y’know? Like, emotionally, as well as physically.”

“That’s all there is to being an omega?” I asked skeptically, concerned with how closely that rhetoric matched the gender roles I’d been trained-on in my former life. “It’s all just nice clothes and femme labour?”

“Isn’t that enough?” she retorted smoothly, unimpressed by my spurious accusation. “I’m not saying that’s all there is to being a complete, like, y’know, person, but emotional gratification and a cute dress are a small ask, at least when it comes to making Sayacchi happy.”

“I guess,” I muttered, still feeling somehow misled.

Railing against her muted explanation, I struggled to find what it was that I found so objectionable. I’d consumed an ocean of love stories over the course of my exhausting life, and time and again they’d repeated the same affirmation: love was a magical thing, coated in an exceptional sheen, a bright and shining bond between two people that both gave and demanded a bounty of emotional wealth. To insist that a relationship could be broken down into such banal categories as racy underwear and emotional labor felt patently absurd, a betrayal of my JK fantasies; there had to be more to it all, a hidden spark that was so intrinsic to the whole concept that Reika had simply neglected to mention it, believing it to be self-evident.

“Is that how you make her happy, then?” I asked, trying to pin down the finer details. “Like, is wearing cute outfits what you do for Saya as Reika, or do you do it as an omega?”

“It’s the same thing,” she shrugged, nonplussed. “You asked me about it earlier, right? To be ‘Reika’ is to be an omega, so whatever I do achieves the same ontological end.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” I allowed, still feeling combative, “but then why dress like a gyaru? Surely there’s a better style to suit Saya’s tastes; if that’s what it means to be an omega, then how can you decide on it all by yourself?”

Grinning, she flashed me her prominent canines. “The gyaru part is for you,” she giggled, trapping me within my own protest. “Sayacchi’s right about that much: you fall hard for bimbos.”

Stunned by her unexpected forwardness, I could do little more than blush. “Okay, sure, yeah,” I admitted sheepishly, too buried in the mountain of accruing evidence to try any comeback, “but it’s not a fetish, alright?”

Still baring her fangs, she refused to let me off the hook, even as she started fussing with her expensive lipgloss. “Whatever you say, sweetheart,” she purred, taking a moment to swipe the beautiful, sparkling pink along the plush pillows of her mouth.

“Are we almost done in here?” I huffed, growing tired of this particular back-and-forth at my expense. “I wanna get dressed before it gets any later.”

Satisfying herself with only a few short strokes, she capped the vial, then eyed me with an amused look. “Just one more thing,” she requested, holding me in place with her words. “I used a little too much, so I’ve gotta make sure it doesn’t smear.”

Unsure of how I was supposed to be involved in that process, my enlightenment struck quickly as she advanced into my space, her arms encircling my shoulders. Bending down to meet me, she didn’t need to make an audible request; reflexive understanding took control, my body rising on my tip-toes before my consciousness ever surfaced. Her lips met mine, orally transferring her affection along with the glittery paint, blotting the excess.

The task finished successfully, I denied her immediate escape. Wrapping my arms around her neck, I clung to my gorgeous omega, thirsting after her. Communicating in an unspoken language, our nights had been filled with this feverish understanding, grasping hands searching for intimate release. Though we’d crossed more serious lines than this, the simplicity of the act was what made it so appealing; in a world where sex was meaningless, Reika’s kiss tasted far sweeter than even the ripest fruit, her flower candy coalescing on my tongue, sliding past the edges of my mouth.

My lovers delighted in this distraction-game, my ambush of gyaru acting on the literal meaning of their collective designation; whenever my thoughts became too wrapped-up in one, the other would attack me from my blindspot, seeking her claim to me. My only respite was our decided schedule, preventing my omega from prolonging the moment, coaxing me into giving her another taste of what she demanded every night in our bed.

Gasping, we broke apart, my face feeling so hot, redder than the pink that graced my lips.

“Do you have to sneak up on me like that?” I whined, regretting the need for brevity.

“Look at it this way,” Reika smiled, my tigress eminently proud of herself as always, “I did you a favor.”

“Now, you won’t need any blush.”

 

I Wish I Had the Strength to Kill That Man

---

Contorting myself in front of the mirror, I struggled to find the perfect angle.

Saya and Reika had mastered the art of the erotic selfie, at least as far as I could tell, which perhaps produced a problem: next to the well-practiced photos they sent each other, my amateurish efforts seemed even less appetizing by comparison. Fumbling with my phone, I warred with my indecisiveness, taking and subsequently deleting a dozen “practice shots” in quick succession.

Staunchly dedicated to my self-loathing, it was difficult for me to imagine what my charm points might be. Certainly, they were easy-enough to pick out on my girlfriends, but I possessed an infinitely greater love for them than I did myself; gripped by that wanting exospection, I could only do my best to mimic what I’d seen Reika achieve. Hoping for the best, I hooked the fingers of one hand under the hem of my sweater, lifting it high enough to expose my bra.

A valiant effort, the over-exposure was likely its greatest flaw; in the harsh light of our shower room, I found it easier to overcorrect than to battle against the shadows. Suspecting that my taller gyaru had employed some combination of delicate filters and sexual wizardry, my only recourse was to bank on the fundamental weakness of my alpha ⸺ namely, that she was interested in me, of all people.

Left with a garish shot of my bra and panties, I wondered if the image even counted as “erotic” at all. At the very least, the way the soft fabric fit snugly between my thighs might entice some pavlovian thrill, causing Saya to remember the physical object in place of the extant facsimile rendered in 4K digital high-definition.

Grimacing to myself, I hit “send” before I could prolong my suffering any further.

 

---

 

[You have uploaded one (1) file.]

Saya: ?
Saya: oh
Saya: …
Saya: uh
Saya: wow

Yoru: I knew it
Yoru: it’s awful, huh

Saya: no, I just
Saya: our date’s like
Saya: in an hour
Saya: right?

Yoru: yeah

Saya: …

Yoru: Reika and I are
Yoru: already dressed
Yoru: we’re heading to
Yoru: the station
Yoru: soon

Saya: …
Saya: yeah
Saya: …
Saya: so
Saya: I think
Saya: I might need
Saya: a few extra minutes

Yoru: ( ╹ -╹)?
Yoru: did something
Yoru: come up?

Saya: yeah …
Saya: I guess you
Saya: could say that

Yoru: ???

Saya: Yoru
Saya: you’re like
Saya: …
Saya: really hot

Yoru: (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ？
Yoru: thank you??

…

Yoru: Saya?
Yoru: are you okay?

ReikaReika: so like
ReikaReika: did you
ReikaReika: mean to send that
ReikaReika: to the group chat?

Yoru: (,,¬﹏¬,,)

ReikaReika: ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
ReikaReika: nice pic

Yoru: oh my god

ReikaReika: I think Sayacchi
ReikaReika: needs a minute

Yoru: for what?

ReikaReika: okay, so
ReikaReika: are you like
ReikaReika: this dense
ReikaReika: on purpose?
ReikaReika: or were you just
ReikaReika: kinda sheltered

Yoru: …?
Yoru: …
Yoru: OH
Yoru: OH NO

ReikaReika: good job, babygirl
ReikaReika: mission accomplished

Yoru: (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

ReikaReika: so, Sayacchi
ReikaReika: can we get
ReikaReika: the money shot?

[Saya has sent a video. Click here to view.]

Yoru: OH MY GOD
Yoru: SAYA
Yoru: WE’RE ON
Yoru: THE TRAIN

Saya: so don’t
Saya: open it??

ReikaReika: LMAO
ReikaReika: SHE HAD
ReikaReika: HER SPEAKERS
ReikaReika: ON FULL BLAST

Saya: …

ReikaReika: SHE CAN’T
ReikaReika: TURN IT OFF

Saya: ???
Saya: so help her?
Saya: instead of
Saya: texting me?

ReikaReika: what
ReikaReika: and miss
ReikaReika: comedy gold?

[ReikaReika has sent a video. Click here to view.]

Saya: you filmed her??

ReikaReika: (๑>؂•̀๑)

 

---

 

Chill winds gusted down the tracks, rushing past the station at a speed that reminded me of the trains themselves. March had announced itself with force, roaring like a lion. Though the freezing February temperatures were already behind us, the cold weather still hung on, overstaying its welcome.

Already I could feel myself looking forward to next month, and the herald of Spring: the whirlwind of delicate cherry blossoms, an explosion of refreshing pink. Perhaps Saya would want to go view them again with me this year; maybe we could bring a lunch and our omega, and have a picnic between the three of us.

My gyaru and I were dressed to the nines ⸺ well, at least as much as two highschool girls could be on a Sunday outing. Deciding that I’d rather be fashionable than cautious, I’d waived the self-imposed ban on the clothing Runa had bought me. Dressed in a smart, long coat layered over a comfortable (but form-fitting) sweater, I felt protected-enough from the brisk air, while staying reasonably confident that I’d excite my alpha’s attention.

Of course, Reika had outdone me, but that was always her forte to begin with. Flexing the wardrobe that occupied almost the entirety of her half of the room, my omega had opted for a cute dress, with a hem high enough for me to give it a worrying glance every time we were hit by a gust of wind. Strangely, she’d never seemed to mind the cold, even in the depth of Winter, but perhaps out of a desire to match my outfit, a loose sweater hung off her bared shoulders; well, it was supposed to be loose, but in practice it had deformed beautifully around her chest, struggling to make room for her rather ample curves. The heel to her shoes wasn’t as high as our last date, but it still made me feel so much shorter by comparison, but I didn’t hate it ⸺ after all, her height was a non-issue whenever I put her on her back.

Caught in idle fantasy, I clung to Reika’s arm, content to let my taller gyaru lead me through the crowd of people. Using her size as a breaker, my omega parted the waves of foot traffic much as Runa had once done; the more excursions I made out into the city, the more I was starting to appreciate the positives of a gyaru’s particular skillset. Grateful for my girlfriend, I wedged in close against her side, swept along in her wake.

Taking a slightly different route from our alpha, the three of us were supposed to meet outside the theater. Normally, I wasn’t really one for watching a movie somewhere other than at home, but Reika insisted that she wanted to see the premier of, quote, her “favorite romance movie, like, ever.” Allegedly, she remembered seeing it over a dozen times in her first life, and I didn’t have the will to argue with her; after all, I’d seen it almost as often myself, in the form of random-select streaming service stimulae, and it had grown on me after a while.

Queerly enough, Saya would’ve been the only one of our trio who hadn’t watched the film before, leaving her slightly out of the loop. The reality of our lifetime apart hadn’t come up very often these days, not after we’d started going out, but the touchy subject did occasionally rear its head. My alpha pretended that it didn’t bother her, but I knew that deep down it had to upset her, at least a little; it had to hurt, knowing that there was a level Reika and I understood each other on, that she couldn’t touch ⸺ and would never have a chance to.

Hoping to return our threesome to a comfortable equilibrium, I’d agreed to watch Thirty Nights of Passion for the dozenth time.

Arriving ahead of our alpha, Reika and I waited patiently, chatting about nothing of importance. So engrossed in our discussion, I hardly noticed the man until he was already upon us, the acknowledgement of his presence first evident in the change in my gyaru’s posture; rising to her full height, she crossed her arms under her bust, projecting a wall of standoffish force.

“No need to get so prickly with me, sis,” he chuckled dryly, as though he’d told some kind of joke. “I’m not here on business.”

“You shouldn’t be here at all,” my gyaru snapped, protective aggression hissing between her teeth like heated steam.

Though not as tall as my girlfriend, he still towered over me, perhaps a few centimeters taller than Saya. A black shirt with a deep V-neck showed off his svelte, muscular figure, but his arms were covered by the striking sukajan he wore over it; though the collar went high enough, I could still see the ink that peeked out, hinting at a broader pattern that likely stretched all the way down his back. A pair of rough-worn boots matched his dark jeans, their considerable wear attesting to both their comfort and longevity. Short hair and ice-cold, gunmetal-grey eyes completed the look, casting an unapproachable, fuck-off-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you vibe in every direction.

“Is this the lilies one?” he asked, unconcerned with Reika’s ill humor. “Or, no ⸺ she’s too short for that.” A slight half-smile on his lips, he took a step towards me, eyeing me like he was trying to appraise the cash value of an art piece.

“I’m warning you,” Reika growled, advancing on him.

Waving her off with a raised hand, he stopped a polite distance away from my personal space. “I’m not gonna do nothin’ to her,” he chuckled, his smirk widening into something that almost approached a friendly smile. “I’m just seeing what she’s like, y’know? I wanted to find out what it is that you’re willing to throw the whole game for.”

Under the gaze of his searching eyes, I could tell he was evaluating me with more than just the single sense. Even as he caught the gentle hint of my pheromones, I could sense the barest smell of cloves drifting from his body; possessed by a strange confidence, I knew that it wasn’t merely some brand of cologne, but rather his unique scent.

“You’re … ⸺ you’re an alpha?” I blurted out in surprise, balking at the notion. I’d been told that alternate pheromones were exclusive to women, but perhaps I’d missed an obvious synthesis of the information Saeko-san had provided; blushing under the embarrassment of my inexperience, I immediately wished I hadn’t said anything at all.

“You’re pretty smart,” he answered dryly, with a tone that suggested he didn’t really mean any offense, even as he poked fun at me. Jamming his hand into his pocket, he fished out a pack of cigarettes; for some reason, the brand seemed familiar to me. Tapping out a smoke, he turned towards Reika, holding it out as an offering. “You want one? Or is it finally ‘next time’.”

“Reika doesn’t smoke,” I stated sternly, though whether it was for his sake, or simply to remind my gyaru, I wasn’t sure.

“You heard her,” the tall blonde nodded, rejecting the proffered cigarette. “Reika doesn't smoke.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, pulling the stick out with his mouth. Though he returned the pack to his pocket, he refrained from lighting-up, showing more class than I expected; I felt a little bad for assuming his social caliber, my harsh judgement arising purely from his attitude and tattoos.

Stepping forward, Reika interjected herself between the man and myself; though I assumed she was protecting me, part of me felt like she was hiding me instead, like a little sister caught with a toy she wasn’t supposed to possess.

“She’s pretty cute,” the man continued, unbothered by Reika’s contentious posturing. “A little shorter than the other one, but maybe she makes up for it somewhere else?”

Given his smug look and Reika’s irritated expression, I quickly gathered that he’d made some kind of indecent entendre, hiding just on the edge of politeness.

“Is that the kind of thing you’re into, then?” the man chuckled, as though I was purely an accessory to the conversation he was having with my girlfriend.

“What about it?” Reika chuffed, tiring of the game.

“I just didn’t peg you as the breeding type,” he smiled, entertaining himself with my gyaru’s animated reactions. “Is that your plan? Becoming a baby-printer for the cute little girl-next-door type.”

“I’ve had just about enough of your shit,” Reika roared, advancing into his space as she brushed off his taunt, though she was clearly struggling to reign-in her sharp temper. “Just spit it out already, and let’s get this over with ⸺ and it had better be a goddamn emergency, if you’re ruining my date.”

“I dunno that it’s an emergency, boss,” he smiled, still chewing on the filter, “but it’s urgent, at least.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he offered an apologetic shrug, softening his request. “The little songbird you’ve got me house-sitting needs some more birdseed, so I came to grab some cash.”

Glowering at him with a look that could’ve melted steel, Reika seemed unimpressed by his cavalier behavior. “I already left you an allowance ⸺ and you could’ve just paid out of your pocket. I would’ve reimbursed you.”

“I mean, I did already do that,” he answered nonchalantly, “but she’s been squawking a lot lately, y’know? I figured you oughta listen to her sing once in a while, so she doesn’t get so lonely. I'm not exactly a good conversationalist, and she likes looking at your face a whole lot more than she does mine.” His half-smile returning, he shot me a quick glance, checking to see how much of his words I truly understood. “I came to put her on the phone, more’n anything else. Y’know I could keep her in the cage if it came to it, but I might not be as gentle as you’d like ⸺ and who knows what her dogs might think, if her feathers got ruffled.”

“I get it,” Reika snarled, unamused by his theatrics. “Just gimme the damn phone ⸺ and mind your fucking manners.”

He’d hardly pulled the no-frills device from his jacket before my gyaru snatched it rudely from his hand. Stamping off angrily, she went a little ways down a tiny side-street; far enough away to be out of earshot, but not so far that she couldn’t keep an eye on the two of us.

Nonplussed, the strange man seemed content to hang around, as though my girlfriend had entrusted him with the role of babysitter while she was on the phone.

“She’s something else, huh?” he cackled, gesturing in her direction with the cigarette between his teeth. “I know she likes to doll herself up, but she really dials it up to eleven around you.”

“How do you know Reika?” I began hesitantly, standing as straight as I could manage; still off-put by his whole aura, I tried to give off the vibe that I wasn’t as terrified of him as I felt, much like a prey animal would fake a warning color.

“Ain’t that kinda cold?” he asked in return, answering my question with one of his own. “We haven’t even exchanged names yet, and you’re already giving me the fifth degree.”

“I don’t think she’d want me knowing your name,” I mumbled, stumbling over my words; incredibly nervous, I battled against my meeker instincts.

“Yeah, probably,” he agreed, his grin widening enough to show his prominent canines, “but it doesn’t really seem fair to you, if we keep things so one-sided; I already know your name, Hoshino-chan.”

With his cocky attitude and disaffected demeanor, it was difficult for me to get any kind of read on him. Obviously, I understood that he belonged to that more-unsavory part of Reika’s life, the one that she wanted to keep hidden from me, but he didn’t seem like the same breed that had accosted me outside the arcade. If anything, I pictured him more as my gyaru’s disreputable sibling, a disowned brother that she wasn’t supposed to like ⸺ at least, not where the rest of the family could see. Certainly, it seemed like he enjoyed teasing Reika, winding her up rather than trying to make her genuinely-mad. Given that level of familiarity, it suggested my girlfriend trusted him to some extent, though obviously I wasn’t aware of where that limit lay.

Despite how scared I was, nothing in his posture communicated even the hint of violence; staying at a respectful distance, he looked more like he was being considerate of a frightened animal, letting it have the chance to approach him on its own terms.

“If she wants to introduce us, she will,” I said in a shaky voice, sounding much-less confident than I had in my head. “You don’t seem like you’re a bad person ⸺”

“Oh, no,” he interrupted, clearing up my misunderstanding. “I’m pretty awful. I only act this nice around your girlfriend, ‘cause I told her aunt I wouldn’t let my unfortunate character rub off on her.” Even though I was sure he was making fun of me, he behaved like he was trying to let me in on the joke, too. “And I’m double-nice around you, like real polite and shit, because I don’t want to have to throw hands with her while I’m wearing my favorite jacket.”

A mess of conflicting words and odd humor, I couldn’t help but find him likeable; obviously I would never want to meet him in a dark alleyway, but out in the broad daylight and within sight of Reika, I didn’t doubt that he knew how to behave himself properly ⸺ that, and it really didn’t seem like I was his “type”, either.

“I’m glad I ran into you, though,” he continued, threading a steady stream of conversation to kill time. “What do you call that smell? Your pheromones, I mean; it’s like, I don’t know, a damp field, but in a nice way.”

“Petrichor,” I answered, forcing myself to accentuate it properly, fighting against the anxious beating of my heart. “It’s called petrichor.”

“Rain and strawberries, huh?” He smiled, more to himself than to me. “Not as sweet as cherries, maybe, but it’s more relaxing ⸺ sadder, even.” Turning his gaze back my way, he drew me in with a flash of his fangs. “You’re perfect for her.”

Before I could ask what he meant, the heavy footfall of Reika’s returning steps alerted us to her presence, interrupting our attempt at a conversation.

“It’s done,” my girlfriend grumbled, fixing him with a harsh look. “I sent what I have on hand to your account ⸺ split it into cash or pay for it yourself, I don’t care, but just don’t let her out of her cage.” Accentuating her syllables in angry staccato, she underlined her point by jabbing him in the shoulder with one perfectly-manicured finger. “I’ll drop by the place later, and sing her a lullaby or whatever the fuck else she wants. If she gets anxious, just remind her what happened to the last little sparrow that fell into my father’s clutches.”

“Anything you say, boss,” he grinned, retrieving the cheap-looking flip-phone from Reika’s outstretched hand. “I’ll be on my way back, then.” Turning on his heel, he made to leave.

“Not so fast,” she snapped, stopping him in his tracks with her serious tone. “I need you to give me a ride down there.”

“Now?” he asked, looking slightly bewildered. “Ain’t you kinda busy, sis?”

Awkwardly interjecting myself into her space, I put a hand on my girlfriend’s arm. “What about our date?”

Whatever was going on, it didn’t sound particularly safe; I wasn’t going to let her go, not if I could help it.

Tenderly, she placed her hand on mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re still gonna have our date,” she assured me in her calming baritone, “but I’ve gotta go take care of a couple dogs, first; they’ll get real snappy if I don’t give them something to chew on.” Smiling apologetically, I got the sense that she wanted to keep me ignorant of her actual plans ⸺ but for my sake, to protect me, rather than to hide her activity out of embarrassment or guilt. “You and Sayacchi can see the movie without me, and I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“The whole point of the date is that it’d be all three of us,” I protested, trying to drag my gyaru out of whatever mess she’d embroiled herself in. “Saya will be really upset, if I have to tell her that you’re not coming.”

“I’m only missing the movie,” she insisted, unwilling to change her mind. “I’ve already seen it a dozen times; besides, we can just come back again next week. They’ll still be showing it then.”

Encircling her arm with my own, I clung to her stubbornly, refusing to allow her to leave. “Reika,” I objected, my voice shaky with worry, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Nothing bad is gonna happen to me,” she smiled, shaking her head; flashing me a sincere grin, I could almost believe she meant it. “I don’t want to go, either, but somebody’ll end up hurt if I blow this off. I’m sorry, Rucchan; this is just how it has to be.”

Sulking, I hugged her tightly, wishing with all my might that I could keep her from leaving; denying me, she carefully extricated herself from my grasp, a wounded expression on her face.

“I promise that nothing’s going to happen,” she swore, following after the man. “It’s just a quick errand.”

As I watched her walk away from me, my cowardice muted my voice, suppressing my words. Unable to speak, I couldn’t tell her that I wasn’t concerned for her sake, but instead worried that she would visit violence on someone else.

I’d seen enough of her, in that one sharp moment at the amusement park, to know what kind of terrifying monster she could become. Scared of losing her to those darker impulses, I could only wring my hands and whisper a silent prayer.

 

I Wish She Could Find the Love that She Deserved

---

Bereft of our third, Saya and I sat together, smothered by a heavy atmosphere.

Deciding that she didn’t want to watch the film without Reika present, my alpha had instead suggested that we head to the classy little cafe earlier than we had planned. A cute shop with a mouth-watering menu, it sat just far enough back from the hustle and bustle of the crowded downtown district to achieve a sort of lingering calm. That artificially-constructed-yet-peaceful vibe would’ve been perfect for an after-movie meal, but we’d taken to simply waiting for our omega instead.

The interior was more spacious than the beautiful facade would suggest, with enough room for a handful of more-or-less private booths. Nursing a couple of weak teas, my alpha and I sat towards the back of the store, turning anxiously towards the doors every so often, hoping to see our tall blonde striding through them.

Trying my best to relax, I sank into the comfortably-upholstered bench, annoyed at my inability to find solace in its soft-but-just-firm-enough plushness. Wasting as much time as I could manage, I let my eye roam the decor one more time. Affecting a sort of naturalist vibe, the cafe had a surprising number of plants, and enormous glass windows; the effect of the two together created the feeling of having tea in a luxurious garden, which would’ve been fantastic if we had Reika around. Slumping against the back of the booth, I sorely wished we could bask in the charming experience together.

Tired of simply running down the clock, Saya cleared her throat, making the best of our interminable wait by engaging me in conversation.

“I guess this is as good a time to ask as any,” my gyaru sighed, a crestfallen frown spread across her beautiful face; affected by the dour mood of our lover’s absence, her affect fell flat, informing our sad chat. “Like, I know it’s kind of a horrible thing to bring up on a date, but it’s been on my mind for a few months now.”

“What is it?” I encouraged, grateful for any kind of distraction.

Stumbling over the starting-block, Saya had to force her words out; her bright green eyes seemed to have lost some of their luster, a worried hesitation lurking just behind them. “I’ve been wondering if you’re ever going to tell me the truth,” she said, her soft tenor barely above a whisper. “Y’know, like … ⸺ about how you died.”

“Oh,” I mumbled stupidly, caught off-guard by her oblique accusation. “I guess we haven’t really talked about that yet, huh?”

It wasn’t that I wanted to be deliberately obfuscatory, but there simply wasn’t a good time to talk about it ⸺ though, there probably never would be. My end hadn’t been a joyful or satisfying thing, marking instead the lowest point of my life, just before its desperate conclusion. Though the bridge had ultimately given way, it was a point of semantics to argue that my death hadn’t been self-inflicted.

As much as I never wanted my mother to hear that wretched story, I wasn’t sure how to tell my childhood friend, either.

“There’s not really much to say,” I sighed, wading through the mess of my past life. “I’d been alone and miserable for a very long time, working horrendous hours just to be able to afford cup ramen and half-price cup sake. Every night I’d swallow a handful of sleeping pills and lay under my desk, hoping to get any amount of sleep.” A familiar pain swirled in my stomach, unconsciously recalling the numbing sense of unsatiated hunger that had lived in my gut, spiked by a cocktail of depressants. “It just went on, and on, and on like that, for years and years.” Screwing my eyes shut, I tried to block out the accrued trauma of that endless hell. “One day I decided that I’d had enough, and … ⸺ and that was it.”

Reaching across the table, Saya took my hand in hers, my alpha interlacing her long, slender fingers with my own. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, unsure of herself. “I know it must be hard to talk about, I just … ⸺ I just wanted to know why you did it.”

I shrugged, disconnecting from myself, creating a barrier between my memories and my emotions. “Being dead just seemed like it wouldn’t be quite as bad as staying alive.”

“Couldn’t you have talked to someone about it?” she persisted, with just a hint of panic in her voice; fighting to keep the worry out of her tone, it twisted instead, becoming that condescending moralization that I hated so much. “Like, what about your mom? Or her family?”

“I couldn’t do that,” I mumbled, staring down at the little saucer on which my teacup sat; fixating on it, I divorced myself from my isolated past, the cold embrace of the nothing inside me settling around my shoulders.

“Why not?” she asked, her innocent questions sounding so much more accusatory than she intended. “Surely your mother would’ve done something for you, if she knew how badly you were suffering.”

Looking up from the porcelain, I locked eyes with Saya. “I couldn’t do that,” I repeated, my voice cracking under the strain, close to breaking. “I couldn’t talk to her.”

Realization came slowly, falling onto her like rain, steadily weighing her down. “Oh,” she intoned in a quiet voice, gripping my hand even tighter. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” I agreed numbly, echoing her sentiment.

A horrible silence settled in around us, choking us with its oppressive atmosphere. Long-buried, the ghost of my past set its icy claws into our hearts, squeezing out any mirth or joy we could’ve possessed. Defiant of the wonderful day that our date was supposed to bring, this petulant misery refused to allow us a happy moment together.

At times like this, the last of our trio would interrupt, acting as the glue that held our tiny polycule together. Deprived of Reika’s presence, the miserable quiet only grew, looming ever larger without the sound of her laughter to break it. Living next to Saya had always been so much easier than this, but that simplicity had arisen from conscious ignorance, and a dedication to hiding my “true” self, the Yoru that had died, from my childhood friend. In this brutal honesty, we struggled alongside each other, unable to break the frustrating deadlock.

Reaching out to me with her pheromones, my love offered the gentle touch of blossoming lilies, communicating her resolve.

“I’m sorry, Yoru,” she started, unsure of herself, knowing only that she wanted to push forward. “I know I’m the one that asked, but … ⸺ I didn’t mean to drag that out of you.”

“It’s fine,” I lied dismissively, waving away her concern. “You’d have to hear about it someday, right? If you want us to stay together.”

“I do,” she said earnestly, accepting my unspoken request. “I want to stay by your side, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“What a wonderful thing to hear,” I smiled, genuine in my almost-whimsical assertion. “If only I’d been given words like that, I might’ve been able to hang on a little longer.”

I’d meant it half-jokingly, but the note of truth ran deep, stinging with a painful clarity.

“Is that how my sister got you?” Saya postulated, sensing my internal conflict. “By playing pretend, like you were still living your other life.”

Nodding sadly, I didn’t bother trying to deceive my alpha. “I don’t think she was trying to manipulate me into anything,” I sighed, battling back a fierce depression, “which is what made it all so effective ⸺ so real.” Offering her a smile I clearly didn’t feel, I forced the mask of my face to hide my budding tears. “For a handful of brief moments, Runa made me feel like someone cared whether I was alive or not. It probably sounds so obscene to say it this way, but it made me happy to think that she would’ve been upset by my death ⸺ the her in that other world, I mean.”

Perversely enough, inflicting misery with my passing would've added an amount of closure to my life. Knowing that someone could feel my loss might have been just enough for me, the push I needed to cross to the other shore; of course, if a person like that existed, they would've never let me leave in the first place.

“I would’ve been upset, too,” Saya insisted quietly, her eyes burning with a queer sincerity.

“No you wouldn’t,” I assured her, hiding behind the tortured half-smile I’d learned from Reika. “Not that other you, anyway. I think she must’ve forgotten I existed, after highschool ended and we went our separate ways. By the time everything ended, there was no one left in the world that cared about me.”

Well, I supposed, entertaining a morbid fancy, no one except Sensei.

“Yoru,” she persisted, unwilling to allow me to slide back into the mire of my despair, “I would’ve cared ⸺ I do care.” Harsh sincerity simmering in the strengthening aura of lilies, she bathed me in her promise of devotion. “That apartment she made for you … ⸺ if that’s the kind of life you want, the kind of relationship you want, you don’t need to go to my sister to get it.”

“Oh?” I teased, affecting mockery. “Are you going to propose to me too?”

Blushing all the way down to her shoulders, Saya nevertheless held my gaze. “M-maybe,” she sputtered, overwhelmed by the severity of that breed of promise. “I mean it when I say I want to be with you.”

“And Reika, too, surely?” I chided, unwilling to allow her to corral me in an assumption of stereotypical matrimony. “You’d be just as fine with her, right?”

“That’s something else entirely,” she huffed, hurt by my spurious implication. “My feelings for Reika, and my plans for her, have no bearing on our relationship.”

“But you want me to break things off with Runa, don’t you?” I persisted, unsure of what end I was even trying to reach. “If you want to say you have some kind of business with my feelings for your sister, then you can’t turn around and claim I’m uninvolved with your dreams for you and Reika.”

Thinking I’d won the argument, I was happy to let the matter drop. Ultimately, I was more or less comfortable with our arrangement as a trio; I was still unpracticed in the feeling of compersion, but my gratitude to my mates was undeniable. I would be happy-enough to see where our lives could go together.

Catching me off-guard, Saya hit me with an astounding shock.

“... ⸺ Okay,” she allowed hesitantly, accepting my criticism. “You’re right.”

“I am?” I echoed, entirely confused by her acknowledgement.

“It’s not fair for me to put rules on who you’re allowed to love,” she began, staggering her way through an admission she clearly found distasteful; even still, she was willing to swallow that bile, for the sake of our relationship. “If ⸺ and I mean if ⸺ you still have feelings for my sister, then I won’t get in the way of them anymore.”

“Are you … ⸺ are you breaking up with me?” I mewled, unable to process the suddenness of this unexplainable event.

“What?” she gasped, just as shocked as I was. “No! I’m not … ⸺ this isn’t an ultimatum, Yoru.” Sighing in exasperation, she took a moment to collect herself, before returning her sincere gaze once more. “I’m not forcing you to choose between me or her.” Worrying at her lower lip, she paused, building up the will to continue down this arduous path. “I’m saying that if you need my sister in your life in order to be truly happy, then I won’t stop you from going to her.”

“You two couldn’t even share a bedroom,” I scoffed, unable to believe what I was hearing, “but now you’re saying you’d somehow be okay with it, if I wanted to play house with Runa?”

“It’s not like I enjoy the idea!” she snapped back, clearly overwhelmed by my contentious response. “If I’m being honest, I hate thinking about you two even rutting, much less anything romantic, but I’m trying to be the kind of alpha that you need me to be.” Doubling-down on her assertion of care, Saya offered to fulfill my every wish; not out of a feckless permissiveness, but out of a deeply-set desire for commitment. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure your second chance succeeds. If that means you need to work out your weird kinks on my sister, then that’s just how it has to be.”

Unable to fully process her promise, I distracted myself from my own feelings by mercilessly ribbing my girlfriend. “Is somebody jealous?” I smirked, becoming completely insufferable. “Do you want me to put on some bridal lingerie and call you ‘Daddy’, too?”

Writhing miserably in her side of the booth, my handsome alpha struggled with the mental image. “I wouldn’t hate it,” she mumbled, casting her eyeline down and away. “I don’t know about the ‘Daddy’ half of it, but the other stuff sounds, um, r-really good.”

Blushing adorably, my alpha shifted uncomfortably, rocking her weight back and forth. I’d been degraded so often by so many women now, that I had grown used to the playful banter, but Saya had yet to be so anesthetized; delighting in keeping her off-balance, I pressed the attack.

“Is that how you want to spend Golden Week?” I teased, piling on the pressure. “We can have our own little holiday, and practice being husband and wife.”

I’d thought my joking would rile her up, but Saya reacted unexpectedly, growing more introspective than horny.

“Is that how you see me?” she asked in a quiet voice, a current of sadness running through her beautiful tenor, a sorrow that I couldn’t quite understand.

“Well, y-yeah,” I muttered, growing unsure of myself. “Whenever I imagine our wedding, I always picture you as the one in the tuxedo.”

Misery and elation warred on her face, my gyaru trying to decide if she’d rather smile, or grimace. “Yoru,” she breathed, entirely too-conscious of me, “you imagine our wedding?”

And just like that, it was my turn to blush, the strawberry-red color to my cheeks matching Saya’s deep shade of peach. “Sometimes, yeah,” I admitted, glancing away. “I mean, that’s a thing we can do now, right? Obviously, I didn’t get to do a lot of things in my first life, but that kind of bond between women wasn’t officially recognized over there.” Fussing nervously with my hair, I twisted a long strand of it around one finger. “I guess I just want to dream about a happy future.”

“But a future with me,” Saya pointed out, sounding just as concerned as she was pleased.

“Yeah.” I agreed, embarrassed by the blunt acknowledgement of my feelings. “I suppose so.”

Trailing off into thought, neither of us dared speak. The silence grew ever louder, my girlfriend and I trapped under the gravitas of my implication. Normally, this would’ve been the perfect time for a joke, brushing off the entire thing like it had simply been an attempt at humor, but I found myself unable to refute what I’d said. Perhaps, if Reika had been here, things would’ve been a little different under her playful teasing, but Saya and I had known each other far too long already.

Stuck inside my own thoughts, I couldn’t help but wonder how many times she, too, had fantasized about our potential union.

Once again, Saya was the first to break through the impassable wall that sat between us.

“Yoru,” she started, gifting me with the sound of my name, “as long as we’re talking about the future, and like, being open with each other, then I have something I want to confess.” Shoulders slumping, the corners of her mouth turned down into a gloomy expression. “Since you’re being honest with me, I want to return the favor. After New Year’s, I did something I’m not proud of. It was stupid and petty, and I did it for purely selfish reasons.”

Her admission only called-up my own indiscretion, my dalliance with Saeko-san surfacing in my memory. Of course, I’d already shown Saya the marks she’d gave me, the twisted passion that she’d worked out onto my skin, but I’d been indirect about their true source; lying by omission, I’d hidden the truth from my alpha ⸺ and, more damningly, my omega.

“I have something to confess, too,” I sighed, hating myself for my constant maladaptation, and my relentlessly self-destructive behavior. “I haven’t been completely honest about something important.”

“Other than like, your death? And my sister?” Saya asked, a rising worry in her voice.

“Yeah,” I nodded, feeling wretched. “It’s kind of a big deal, but I only half-told you about it.” Swallowing whatever pride I possessed, I pressed on. “I think it’s necessary for our relationship, for me to come clean about it.”

“Well,” she huffed, her own tortured feelings hissing out between her teeth, “I guess there’s nothing for it. If it matters that much, then we have to talk about it.”

As much as I needed to tell my mate what I’d done, to clear the air between us, I struggled to actually attain that level of honesty. Even having broached the subject, I still danced around the truth, unwilling to speak it aloud. The old Yoru would’ve been content to let it slip by, instead focusing on Saya’s missteps, but I wanted to be better than her ⸺ better than I had been.

“Who should go first?” I asked, possessed of a nervous energy.

“I don’t know,” she replied unhappily, worrying over the same point. “If I don’t say it soon, I’m going to lose the courage to say it at all.”

“Then maybe we should go at the same time?” I suggested, hoping to bury my misdeeds in a simultaneous confession. “We’ll both say it at once, and then we can be done with it.”

“Alright,” she agreed, a hint of anguish roiling in her gorgeous green eyes. “We’ll say it together, on three.”

Metering the time with her hand, Saya handled the count. Feeling just as contemptible as she had to be, the acid churned in my stomach, my tea stirred around in my guts by the horrible weight that settled there. As much as I wanted to keep my reckless error hidden, especially from Reika, I knew we’d have to unveil that skeleton eventually.

“One,” she started, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind an ear, “two, three.”

Taking a steadying breath, I expelled my ridiculous secret.

“I’ve been fucking Saeko-san.”
“I’ve been rutting with Kuroyama-sensei.”

Blinking slowly, the two of us held each other’s eyelines, each processing what the other had said. Realization came all at once, but understanding was no balm against the shock; even worse, Saya wasn’t stunned at all by my disclosure, a quiet sadness swimming in her bright green pools.

“I know,” she murmured, acknowledging my surprise. “I’ve known for months.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I sputtered, caught entirely off-guard. My mind spun off into a thousand directions, considering the question from all angles, concocting dozens of follow-up questions; ordering my outrage, I led with what was most important. “How did you even find out?”

“Reika told me about your Markr profile,” she explained, reaching into the pocket of her jacket. Retrieving her phone, she set it down on the table, showing me an account named “EvningLily”, a convention that I would’ve found cute, if my hackles weren’t already raised. “After you’d showed me what ‘TallDrkBeauty’ did to you, the marks she’d left, I tracked her down.”

“Why?” I stammered, entirely bewildered. “What would be the point? You told me it was fine ⸺ that you didn’t care.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I wasn’t completely honest. I know I said it didn’t bother me, but that was only half-true.” A fierce possessiveness burning in her eyes, it matched the blaze of lilies that surrounded me; clenching her other hand into an angry fist, she squeezed mine almost as hard. “I’d already forgiven you, but I wanted to settle things with that ‘random alpha’.” Gritting her teeth, she looked away, unwilling to let me see the depth of her jealousy.

“So, what,” I scoffed uncharitably, growing furious with my girlfriend, “are you trying to tell me that you were, I don’t know … ⸺ defending your territory, or something?” Brows furrowing, I projected my frustration in my harsh glare. “Am I your property?”

“Yes,” she hissed, returning my vicious stare. “That’s how it works for alphas, and especially for me.” An imperious growl lurking on her tongue, my gyaru bared her fangs, reminding me of the brutal, loving depth of her bite. “I can forgive Reika. I could maybe find it in my heart to forgive my sister. But anyone, and I mean anyone else, any ‘random’ fling that tries to put her teeth to you, I will never forgive.”

Enflamed passion crackled in the air, the thick atmosphere bristling with the scent of lilies, Saya making her claim eminently clear to the rest of the world. “You’re mine, Yoru. I won’t let anyone try to steal you away from me.” Her fierce devotion evident in her rapacious growl, my alpha threatened me with her love. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to make that clear ⸺ to you, and to everyone else.”

Balancing on the edge of a worrying precipice, presented with an undeniable temptation, my girlfriend fought an avaricious desire to take things one step further, sending our relationship over a line that we could never uncross. It had been days since, but the memory of her vivid bite, a mark that flirted with an unshakable permanence, was still fresh in my mind; the ghost of it lingered, tickling the back of my neck, reminding me of just how good it felt to have her so deep in me.

No, that wasn’t the word for it. Her bite wasn’t just pleasurable ⸺ it felt right, as though it were a primal truth. Every time she sank her ivory blades into my flesh, the natural law of the world asserted itself: I belonged to Saya, her ownership evidenced by the transcendent pain, and the scars it promised to embed in the core of my being.

“Whatever they try to steal from me,” she snarled, “I promise I’ll take the difference out of their hide.”

Enraptured by her venomous vow, I was only half-aware of the pleading voice of my conscience, the simpering creature that quaked in fear of an irrevocable future. I’d plied my gyaru with a dangerous seduction, teaching her a method of security that created its own risks in return. As docile as I became at that fraction of a centimeter away from a true mark, the barrier protecting both of us was far too fragile to chance.

And yet, with a cruelly-efficient prose, Saya assured me that she would gladly take that last step, whenever it was that I finally forced her hand.

In our hearts, there was no question of its inevitability.

So focused on each other, we hardly noticed our approaching third.

Sliding into the booth next to me, Reika crowded my space, bumping her hip against mine.

“Why all the serious faces?” she laughed, neglecting to provide apology for her own absence. Smiling brightly, she flashed her gorgeous canines.

“What’d I miss?”