I’ve come to realize that I have seriously underestimated Hagakure Sorahiko. Not that I’ve been looking at him through rose-tinted glasses, but that I’ve been treating him like a child. 

“What are you— ”. He kneels at my feet like a vision from the dirtiest part of my mind. And he looks right at home there. 

Like he belongs at my feet, staring up at me with wide, hungry eyes.  

“This is your fantasy, Sorahiko?”. What a goddamn minx. “You fantasize about ...