“Entrance exam tomorrow, hm?” Kakashi bounces a rubber ball off the wall. He catches with his left, throws it, catches it with his right, throws it. It snags oddly off the corner of peeling wallpaper and shoots by his ear, crashing against the post of his rickety bed that creaks ominously. After a few seconds, the bouncing dies down, and it rolls somewhere to be never seen again.

Kakashi sighs and leans on the back legs of his chair, throwing his head back. “Maa,” he says to the upside-down crayon drawings tacked up above his bedspread, “what a situation I’ve found myself in. School.”

The crayon drawings, predictably, do not reply. Kakashi stares at the scribbled mess of blonde hair wearing a bleach-white smile that stretches just slightly too far from the confines of Minato-sensei’s lopsided head. Sighs.

The television crackles in the background, volume turned down low.

Kakashi rights himself with a thud of the chair’s legs on the ground, winces—that was not a very comfortable position for his neck—and stands, achingly slow. He pads over to the bathroom, twists the cold tap, cups water in his (too-small) hands and splashes it on his (too-small) face. He avoids his reflection as he pats his face dry, eyes zeroing in on the bottle of hair dye sitting innocently on his counter.

Ah. He’d nearly forgotten.

Picking it up, Kakashi squints at the bottle, twisting it over in his hands, distorting the words with the water left on his hands. Sterling Silver, it proclaims, best offer you’ll ever get! The price tag is scribbled out in sharpie. Overtop it is a bright red sticker that says 50% OFF, BUY ONE GET THREE FREE!

Kakashi eyes the cabinet under his sink where the other three bottles hide.

Sterling Silver. It was the cheapest one at the store…

What a stupid name.

He raises his eyes to the mirror, braving his reflection. He needs a haircut. Slowly, Kakashi combs out his hair with a few fingers, brushing in front of Obito’s eye. Hm. That could work.

His seat is 19B.

Kakashi could find his seat, or he could head over to the only empty one. When he reaches his seat, a predictable 19B emblazoned across it, the test is slated to start in thirty seconds.

The packet on his desk is thick, a standard pencil set beside it. He slides into the seat just as the examiner stands up.

"You are allotted three hours for the test. Cheating will result in expulsion from the Yuuei and any subsequent hero schools, plus a mark on your record. Raise your hand if you have any questions. Begin!"

The room fills with the rustling of paper, and Kakashi leisurely flips through the booklet, reading everything with a half-lidded gaze.

The physical exam is mostly for the hero course, so he has to do good here to make it into General Education…

It's only cheating if you get caught. Kakashi sighs, then hunches over his paper. It's only cheating if you get caught, yes, but Kakashi didn't burn entire history books into Obito's sharingan for nothing.

He breathes out, softly, and starts on the math portion first. This one should be relatively easy, at least.

Kakashi's got to look like he's trying, right? He meanders out of the bus last, hands in his pockets, lurking at the back of the crowd. The bustle of people is loud—too loud—and he squeezes his eye shut briefly, like it'll help with the sound, then immediately opens it. He gives the mob of participants a cursory glance, noting the anxious ones and the confident ones.

He sweeps another look back over and his eye catches on a shock of familiar lavender hair. Cat kid. Immediately, he slips away, inconspicuous as possible, trying to put more distance between them.

Of course he investigated the boy. Shinsou Hitoshi. Single mother. Quirk: brainwashing. Barely scraping by. Scars on the back of his head and the bridge of his nose where a muzzle would rest. No faith in authority figures, so Kakashi would be safe until he found, say, a more permanent solution to silence the boy.

He’s loath to kill children, but he does what he has to.

He always does.

A minute ticks by, the crowd shifting and muttering in front of him. Kakashi stays far away from Shinsou.

"START!" a voice shouts. Kakashi snaps his eyes up, scanning for the source. It's a figure, high above, half his height seemingly made up of hair.

Resisting the urge to dart into the opening gates, he instead hovers uncertainly with the rest of the classmates. This kind of hesitation would get you killed on a battlefield. He watches the gates yawn open into a city made of concrete, stone arching up into the sky. Sighs. This isn’t a battlefield, though.

Hair man shouts something along the lines of Villains won't wait for you! and the crowd gets moving, dust kicking up. Kakashi stays with the pack until it peters out, the test-takers splitting into side streets and running for the giant hunks of metal. Kakashi looks around if distressed, running towards a robot and watching as it blows apart due to someone’s quirk. Some sort of laser.

He jumps from fight to fight, rubble and rebar tumbling around him. Kakashi rounds a corner and stumbles across Shinsou trapped under a slab of concrete, not injured, just pinned. The concrete is propped up by half a fake, broken storefront. He hesitates, but then, a smile curling across his lips, moves to go help.

Hitoshi is going to die. Perhaps a tad overdramatic, but…

He takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself. The blackness creeps in on him, thick and tight and suffocating. If he listens closely, he can almost hear the skittering of bugs beside him.

Hitoshi tries to take another calming breath. His throat catches. Fuck. Only two minutes in and he's already done for. Great.

“Hello,” a voice says. “Need any help?”

Hitoshi cranes his neck up to meet brown eyes. Brown eye. The other is covered by a wash of grey hair. “No,” he answers, despite the very obvious need for help.

The boy stays solemn. “You look like you need help,” he says, flicking a strand of grey hair away from wire-rimmed glasses.

If he accepts… he’ll be in debt… “Fine,” Hitoshi says sharply. “Hurry it up.” He rankles at the thought of owing someone, but he needs to get out of here.

The boy struggles to shift aside the slab but manages, sweat beading on his brow and arms trembling. “Go,” he wheezes out.

Hitoshi scrambles away without a second thought, then pauses. Remembers the touch of a warm hand and waking up healed in an alleyway, a cat sleeping peacefully next to him. Unharmed.

“Thank you,” Hitoshi says, the words fighting out of his mouth. He bows, stiff. “I am in your debt,” he spits, and runs to get points before they’re all gone.

Kakashi smiles, a faint twitch of the lips. Good. The kid hadn’t recognized him—it stands to reason most other people wouldn’t, either.

He brushes away the chakra-induced sweat and adjusts his fake glasses, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear that pops out right after. Presses a finger over his bare chin. Contemplates.

He’ll be home soon.

A loud rumbling begins, the zero-pointer rising up tall. Screaming echoes from the other side of it, and he watches its back as it begins its trek forwards.

People run past him, in the direction of safety, and he lets himself be pulled along into its current, yells and shouts echoing in the distance.

Kakashi doesn't bother with a greeting as he sweeps into the bar, avoiding the creaky floorboards and grimacing under his mask—a full face one, this time, like his ANBU one used to be—when he steps on a sticky patch of something. Equal chances to be piss or beer, considering where he is: a seedy bar smack dab in the middle of the red light district.

Quietly, he slips into his usual chair in the corner, the one that faces all the exits with a wall to his back. Prime seating he had to fight for.

"That's my spot, loser." The slim woman spits at him, the table smoking where it lands. The acrid smell of burnt plastic and charred, chemical-treated wood curls up into the air, framing the woman's forked tongue.

The bar goes quieter, eyes turning their way, the clatter of glasses and chatter lowering in volume.

Kakashi doesn't flinch, slumping farther into his seat. "Ha! You're funny!" he exclaims, raking his eyes over her. A red-orange tail swipes back and forth behind her. A lizard quirk with acid spit, maybe.

"Take it outside!" The bartender scowls at them, waving a hand at them as if to say shoo!

"Sure!" Kakashi chirps, rising. He hops out of his seat and trails after the woman with a flowing grace, his movements smooth and his footsteps silent, the door shutting behind them with a click.

They exit into an alleyway. The air outside smells like weed and stale cigarettes, not much better than the smell inside.

"Who're you to sit there?" the woman asks, fingers elongating into wicked sharp claws.

Rocking back onto his heels, he clasps his hands in front of him as if in prayer. "Nobody, really," he says cheerfully. "Just your friendly neighborhood villain."

The woman leaps at him, teeth bared and tail lashing out. Kakashi manages to sidestep, bounding backwards. "Now, now," he chides, flashing forwards to kick the woman in the stomach, "that's not very nice, is it?"

Stumbling backwards, she wheezes, the air knocked out of her. "Shut up!" She straightens despite her obvious discomfort and spits at him. It goes farther than it should, grazing Kakashi's shoulder. The acid doesn't hit his skin, but he darts away all the same, baiting the woman into another, more enclosed alleyway. She follows.

"Too slow," he taunts, then races forward and slams her in the jaw, fist following through as her head snaps up almost comically. She's out before she hits the ground.

Kakashi, in a rare show of compassion, hides her limp body behind a dumpster, piling garbage up in such a way that nobody will see her from a glance inside the alley. There's no telling what kind of people will stumble across her. An attractive woman passed out in the red light district? No way someone won't try to take advantage of her. He checks over his handiwork with a nod, then leaves.

He re-enters the bar, everyone hushing at the sight of him without the woman behind. Money exchanges hands. Cheekily, he gives a little wave, then sits pointedly down at his chair. "Don't stop talking because of me!" he calls after a minute of near-silence.

Slowly, conversation resumes. Nobody tries to challenge his spot.

Kakashi sighs, bracing his chin on his hands. "Get me your cheapest beer," he tells the bartender, if only to appease the man. He won’t be drinking anything tonight.

The bartender nods, then says, “Sure.”

Tapping his fingers on his chin, Kakashi waits calmly. He listens carefully to the chatter in the bar, collecting gossip like one might collect stamps or precious metals.

When the bartender absently slides a glass across the tabletop, Kakashi doesn’t spare a second glance, keeping it by his elbow and not touching it. Of course, he can keep alcohol as well as any ANBU. Could flush it out of his system with chakra, too, but this body is weak and Kakashi needs all the chakra he can spare.

“Hey.”

Humming blithely as answer, he slots on his mask of indifference to hide the way he catalogues everything about the man who sat down, from the black shoes to the ruffled hair to the way he smells like ash.

“Interested in getting some cash?” Giran, information broker, says. Raises an eyebrow.

“Depends,” Kakashi replies, adding a bit of cheer to his voice. “How much?”

Giran smiles knowingly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded paper. He slaps the table with it, then flicks it over.

Cautiously, Kakashi snags it from the air and unfolds it. Inside, it reads—

“Is this a recruitment flyer?” Kakashi asks with a hint of disbelief.

“They’re calling themselves the League of Villains,” Giran drawls. “Say they’ve got a plan to kill All Might.”

Kakashi laughs. It’s sudden and he almost chokes on it, wheezing with mirth. “Alright,” he manages to get out, wiping at where his tears would be if he wasn’t wearing a mask. “Anything else?”

Giran frowns, small and slight and fleeting. “They’re the real deal,” he insists, not moved by Kakashi’s weak attempt at directing the conversation.

“How much are they paying you to spew that kind of stuff?”

“They’re—a lot,” Giran admits, cutting himself off. “Gotta go where the money’s good.”

“Anything else, then?

“Hey. Well…” Giran leans closer, as if spilling a secret. He glances around. “I heard All for One is backing them.”

“That ghost tale? I thought he was made to, you know,” Kakashi says derisively, wiggling his fingers for emphasis, “scare children and all that.”

Giran shakes his head before standing. “Well, spread the news, hm?”

“Of course!” Kakashi exclaims, fake-happy. “Won’t let you down!”

All for One. Finally.

Hitoshi yawns, sliding open the door to General Education. The desks are set into partners and then rows. And… he's the first one here.

He glances at a window and frowns—no wonder. It's still early as fuck. Rubbing at his eyes, he staggers over to a desk near the back of the room and slumps down it, pressing his forehead to the cool wood.

Carelessly, he tosses his bag over the chair beside him, freeing up his arms to pillow his head. Shutting his eyes, he tries to sleep. It comes, eventually, despite the awkward position.

Hitoshi awakes to a low chatter and the fading echo of the first bell. He keeps his head down, letting the sound wash over him.

Lethargically, he lifts his arms up to stretch, exhaling softly when his bones creak and pop.

The door slides open as the second bell rings. Hitoshi pays it no attention, eyes instead fixed on the loud Present Mic chatting with a blue-haired boy near the front of the room.

"Ah, listener, just on time!" Present Mic exclaims, leaving the blue-haired student to scuttle back to his seat.

"Hello, Present Mic-san," an all-too familiar voice replies.

It’s the boy from the entrance exam. Shit.

Present Mic brightens. "Take a seat! We should have enough time to do a speedy introduction before orientation!”

Quickly, Hitoshi sweeps a glance across the room. He counts the empty seats frantically, realizes there are none, and turns his gaze slowly to the single empty seat beside him.

The one with his bag on it. That he forgot to move. So nobody sat there and now Entrance Exam boy who had to save him gets that seat of honour.

"Excuse me." Exam boy stands next to the empty seat, stare boring into Hitoshi’s skull.

Hitoshi yanks his bag out of the seat beside him. Decidedly does not look at the boy and instead fixes his stare out the window. Exam boy shuffles, sits, shoes scuffing against the floor.

Hitoshi begrudgingly looks back at the front of the room when Present Mic speaks again. “You listeners can call me Yamada-sensei, ‘kay? I like chinese food.” The man cocks his head, much like a puppy, and eagerly gestures for someone in the front row to continue.

Chair legs screech across the ground. The girl stands up, leaf-green hair sweeping down to her shoulders. “Uhm, hello!” Her eyes are fixed somewhere to the left of the whiteboard. “My name is Saito Hanabi.” She dips her head in a quick half-bow. “My quirk is photosynthesis. I can convert light to energy”—she lifts a hand, producing a pale emerald glow that glints off her glasses—“but it doesn’t stay for long outside my body. Please take care of me."

“Cool,” someone whispers. Hitoshi glares at nothing.

Someone else stands after she sinks back into her chair; her desk partner. He introduces himself in a lazy drawl, displays his webbed fingers as his quirk, and sits back down.

They keep going, one by one. Most state their name, their quirk, maybe a favorite colour. One boy with big, hooped silver earrings has an uncomfortably long introduction. The rest go quicker after that.

And then it’s Exam boy’s turn.

“My name is Akatani Mumiko. I like dogs."

Huh.

Hitoshi begins his introduction before Present—Yamada-sensei calls on him to do it. "Shinsou Hitoshi." His heartbeat thunders irrationally loud in his chest; he scowls. "I'm not here to make friends," he says, blunt. "Most of you here have probably tried and failed to make it into the hero course. I have, too. The difference between me and the rest of you is that I'll make it."

Exam boy coughs. The drag of wooden chair legs on the ground is too loud in the silence. Hitoshi tries not to sink into the floor.

"Well!" Yamada-sensei claps his hands together, surveying them with a smile. "Wonderful to meet you all. Orientation starts… very soon, actually, so let's get moving!"

Hitoshi refuses to shy away.

“Hello.”

Hitoshi blinks the sleep from his eyes. “What,” he mutters, flattening the end into a demand rather than a question, then yawns. He squints at his seatmate. A small smile crinkles the other’s eyes as he offers a slow blink, mirroring Hitoshi’s own half-asleep state.

“Oh,” Hitoshi realizes after a moment, “you’re Akatani.”

“Yup,” he begins, “and I’m cashing in that favor you owe me.”

Hitoshi bristles. “I don’t owe you anything,” he shoots back automatically, then winces. He kind of does. He even said that he was in his debt.

“Eat lunch with me.”

Pausing, Hitoshi mentally runs through the conversation again. “...what,” he manages.

“Eat lunch with me.”

Akatani tugs Hitoshi up by the arm, either oblivious to the way Hitoshi stiffens or uncaring.

Akatani pulls Hitoshi along, nearly toppling their desks as they go. Hitoshi’s no choice but to follow or trip over his own feet—something he’d rather not do in front of the slowly emptying classroom.

The noise level rises with his entrance into the hallway. Students jostle and talk and yell and bump into each other. It makes for a very unpleasant sound, the voices grating and harsh on his ears, but he endures it.

Akatani leads Hitoshi through the crowd. Hitoshi tries to dislodge the hand a few times but the grip is firm. He’s strong, and eventually Hitoshi relents and lets himself be led away.

They order from Lunch Rush. Well, Hitoshi orders. Akatani half-smiles and tells Lunch Rush to make two. Akatani refuses the little juice box Lunch Rush offers on the side. Hitoshi takes it.

It’s mango-pineapple.

Precariously balancing his tray, Hitoshi trails after Akatani, resigned to his fate. The boy strides past all the tables, going right out the doors instead of sitting down to eat. Hitoshi sighs, squares his shoulders, and follows.

They make their way through the school to an empty stairwell tucked behind the music room. A wide window sends afternoon sunlight splashing across the concrete floors, deepening the shadows around Akatani’s face.

A tray lands with a clatter. Hitoshi startles, gripping his own tighter.

Akatani looks up to him on the floor. “Sit down.”

Hitoshi complies, sitting down slowly. He snaps open his chopsticks. It echoes. Akatani stares him in the eye. Hitoshi sets down the chopsticks next to his juice box, opens his mouth, picks his chopsticks back up. What is there to say?

Akatani lifts the tray up to his face. Hitoshi resists the urge to slap the underside and send the fried rice up his classmate’s nose, instead watching with tired eyes as Akatani—sniffs? What the fuck. Akatani just sniffed his food. Seemingly satisfied, the boy puts the tray back down, mutters a quick thank you for the meal, takes a few grains of rice and eats only that.

Akatani then pulls out a small novel from inside his jacket pocket, leaving the rice alone. Hitoshi catches a glimpse of a dragon and a tall tower on a page; in fact, Hitoshi actually knows this story. It’s a fantasy, centered around a ‘damsel’ that can turn into a dragon and the troubles that come with it. It’s… pretty bad.

“You going to eat,” Hitoshi says flatly, ignoring the book in the other’s hand.

“Mhm,” Akatani says agreeably, burrowing his nose deeper into the pages of his book.

They spend the rest of the time eating in awkward silence. Well, Hitoshi eats. Akatani sits there and reads his novel. Someone’s footfalls thud through the stairs, at one point, but otherwise all is still.

“Why are we here,” Hitoshi says finally. Evenly, without the hint of a question.

“Nobody much comes here, since the garbage cans are right by the door.” Akatani shrugs absently, tapping his chopsticks on his tray. “It’s quiet.”

Hitoshi desperately wants to ask Why do you know this, it’s the very first day, but restrains himself. “No, but, you and me…” Hitoshi sits back in a bid to seem more intimidating, eyes narrowed. “You and me,” he repeats. “Why are we eating together.”

Akatani shrugs again. “We need to eat lunch sometime, maa?”

Hitoshi opens his mouth to reply, but the bell rings, cutting him off and signaling the end of lunch.

“Better return these trays,” Akatani says, stretching his hands above his head with a satisfied sigh. “Coming?”

Hitoshi nods.

Wait, when did Akatani finish off his food?

The next school day, Akatani arrives just on time again. Hitoshi fixes his eyes on the front and tries to listen to Present Mic talk. And talk. Present Mic talks a lot. But then the other teacher comes in quietly, nods to them, writes their name in chalk with quick, even strokes. Cementoss’ voice is even, steady, a low rumble about the pre-quirk era authors compared to the ones today, and Hitoshi fights the urge to nod off.

Hitoshi listens, takes notes, answers questions dutifully when called, ignores the way his muscles pull oddly, and when the lunch bell rings there’s a hand on his desk.

“Eat lunch with me,” Akatani says again, leaving no room for argument.

“Sure,” Hitoshi says listlessly back, but makes no move to stand. “One second.” He thins his lips and stands a bit unsteadily, wincing when his leg knocks against the desk leg. “Let’s go.”

Akatani steps back, watches with unreadable eyes. Hitoshi nudges the other boy aside to get to the door. He makes his way to the cafeteria, winces when someone smacks into him, and waits in line silently.

Akatani’s not far behind, of course, and this time when Hitoshi orders his eyes land on the ramen. It’ll be hell to bring back to the stairwell, but he shrugs and decides why not.

“One miso ramen,” Hitoshi requests, holding up a finger in case Lunch Rush can’t hear him. His sleeve slips down his arm, and he tugs it back with an annoyed sigh.

“One miso ramen for me, too,” Akatani adds, stepping over to Hitoshi’s side, and Lunch Rush slides a second ramen next to the first.

“Thank you,” they say in tandem. Hitoshi scowls and takes the food.

Kakashi groans, flopping down on his rickety bed. He stays there a moment, then rolls over to check his phone. He unlocks it with an overly long password, exits the 102k smut book he'd been working on finishing, and clicks open google.

He sighs as autocorrect fills in 'fucking' and backspaces a few times. Recent searches pop up—how to make a child stop crying, how to comfort a lost child, why is my teenager acting weird, how to make friends—and he clicks the wiki link for how to make friends and skims the entire thing again, despite having it committed to memory.

"Take the first step." Kakashi groans again. "Alright, what do I do now?"

Having no friends is oftentimes more suspect than having friends. So he's... Kakashi squints at his screen. So he's getting himself out there. Making friends.

Hooray.

"Are you proud of me, Minato-sensei?" A half-chuckle escapes him. "Finally making friends."


Molly holds Sherlock's hand tightly as they go back into the restaurant and over to John and Mary's table. They sit across from the other couple. Molly and Mary greet each other and Molly greets John but the words die on her lips when she realizes that the two men are staring each other down. John sits back with his arms folded across his chest and Sherlock lounges languidly in his chair, feigning bored indifference. The fact that he can lounge in a restaurant chair as gracefully as he can on a sofa makes her a little sorry that she insisted on going out this morning.

Molly gives their food orders while the two men continue to glare at each other.

Finally Sherlock sighs. "Okay, John. How did you figure it out. Please stun me with your massive brilliance." Molly kicks him under the table.

"You can blame her date," he says, gesturing to Molly. "He felt so bad about her having to rush back to work that he suggested we bring her some dinner. So we did. Oh, Molly it was a beautiful spinach ravioli in cream sauce. Which we ended up taking home with us because, when we got to Bart's not only was Molly not there, but no one had seen her since she left at six, no one had heard from her via text or any other channels, and she certainly didn't leave any work undone. They seemed to think that was quite funny, Molly, the idea you'd leave work undone. So well done on the work ethic."

"Thank you," she says, looking intently into her cup of coffee.

"So anyhow, we knew something was fishy but we were also a bit worried so we phoned Sherlock. Went straight to voicemail. This git never shuts his phone off. You can hardly get him to put it on vibrate. So off we went to Baker Street. It's dark and empty there and Mrs. Hudson hasn't seen you since that afternoon when you'd left the flat wearing what she called shamefully tight dungarees. We figured you had to be holed up together at Molly's place, but we weren't going to interrupt. Luckily, Mary remembered that you love this place, Molly. You brought Mary here to recover after her hen night. We figured why not. If we didn't run into you we'd have a nice brunch then pop round to Molly's after since it'd be a more suitable hour. But here you are, walking in smelling like a bordello with your face all glowing."

"Very good, John, I'm glad it only took you several months to figure it out."

"I didn't just figure it out, you prat. We just never caught you."

"Why didn't you just ask me, or Molly?"

"Because I shouldn't bloody have to," John says through clenched teeth. Molly realizes that John is more hurt than angry, but she's not sure that Sherlock realizes it yet. She gives his thigh a squeeze, trying to communicate to him to be careful. He rubs her hand gently.

"You're right."

Everyone at the table gapes at Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock asks. "He's right. We were wrong. There was no real reason to hide our relationship from John and Mary. They wouldn't tell anyone or let it slip. So has everyone who needs to know been informed or do we have to tell Lestrade, too?"

"Wait, Mrs. Hudson knows?"

"Yes, apparently she's known for a while but just let us know she knew yesterday. So how does it feel to be out sleuthed by an old woman?"

"This has been just another bloody game to you, hasn't it? Anything else the two of you need to get off your chest, then? Secret marriage? Love child?"

"Well, if you must know—" Molly elbows him in the ribs.

"John," she says, "That's it, no more secrets. We were just being overly cautious."

"Sherlock, this had better be the last time you ever lie to me, do you understand?" Something in John's voice makes Sherlock drop all pretense of nonchalance.

"Yes."

"Right. So, how long has it been, then?"

"I kissed Molly for the first time in August, but because of scheduling and a few murders we didn't go on our first date until October."

"October?" John sputters. "Sherlock, it's May."

"Fantastic observation, John. Here comes our food. How about we all shut up and eat?"

John opens his mouth again, but then shuts it, shrugging and digging into his food. He is two bites in when Sherlock's text alert goes off.

Molly knows by the way Sherlock smiles that it is a case. John realizes it too and groans.

"Perfect timing as usual," John mutters, throwing his napkin on the table.

Sherlock is already up. He gives Molly enough cash to pay for all their meals and kisses her on the forehead before heading to the door.

"John, I'll have to stop by my flat for a change of clothes. You head to the crime scene."

John nods and kisses Mary. He takes one last longing look at his meal, grabs a piece of toast, and follows Sherlock out the door.

Molly and Mary stare at the overabundance of food at their table, then burst out laughing. The waitress comes over to refill their coffee and surveys the scene.

"Well, they had to rush off, didn't they? What are they, surgeons or something?"

"No, erm, they're dog whisperers," Mary says.

"Yes," says Molly. "Just got a frantic text from a client. Standard poodle that's developed a bit of a crush on the cat."

"Oh, well, I'll just put this in takeaway boxes then?"

"Thank you," says Molly. She looks at Mary after the waitress leaves. "Dog whisperers? Is that the best you could do? I nearly pissed myself."

"Well, I couldn't say detectives, could I? She might have put two and two together and recognized them, despite that awful getup Sherlock is in."

"That's one of John's jumpers, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"So, you're not mad, then?"

"A little irritated I've missed out on all these months of relationship talk. All of the girls at work are single and I just can't relate to that whole walk of shame, knickers in your handbag stuff anymore. But no, I'm not mad. I do hope you know that you can trust us."

"I do. And I'm sorry. Really."

"It's okay. So, have you finished that book I lent you, or have you been too busy shagging Sherlock?"

"Mary, keep your voice down. And I'm almost finished. It's brilliant. And that's not all we do, by the way."

"Yeah, I guess you are far enough into the relationship for that to be true."

Molly's text alert rings before she can retort.

-Got more info from one's only a seven. Should be wrapped up by tomorrow evening if no exciting twists pop up. Pencil me in for a late dinner. SH—

"Well, looks like my day just opened wide up. Want to see a movie?"

Mary is looking at a text of her own. "Why not? But let's stream something so we can watch it in our pyjamas."

"Brilliant," Molly says. Her text alert rings again.

-You were fantastic, by the way. Glad I didn't have to face him alone. Love, SH.—

She fires off a reply before turning back to her friend and her meal.

-Always.—


Junho stepped into the shower, hot water running down his body as he rested his hand against the cold tiles, leaning forward and closing his eyes. His mind kept going back to Youngwoo from earlier, her face so close to his as she looked at him with those big wide eyes.

Her lips were parted, soft puffs of air ghosting across his face and he had to hold himself back from pressing his own to hers. He had seen how she tensed, her thighs pressing together, the little shiver that passed through her when he had pressed his lips to her soft skin. He wondered how she would react when his lips would ghost over her skin, kissing her in places she couldn’t even dream of.

What if he had laid her across his bike and slipped his hand up her pretty dress right there and then, pressing it between her legs? Would she have been wet for him? Would she beg him for more? Her soft little voice whimpering for his touch as she spread her legs, unable to wait any longer?

He reached down, gripping his cock in his hands as he stroked himself slowly, his breathing picking up, letting his fantasy play behind his closed eyes. Maybe he would have her bounce on his cock right there, dress half unbuttoned, his mouth wrapped around her breast as she buried her hands in his hair, tugging on them hard. Pretty moans would spill out of her lips and he would have to silence her, not wanting anyone to know what they were upto, slipping his fingers into her mouth and making her suck on them.

Or he could have those sinful lips wrapped around his cock as she struggled to take all of him in, gasping for breath. He would need to guide her slowly and tell her how perfect she was, how perfect she looked like that with his cock down her mouth.

Junho groaned, stroking himself faster at the vision. She would be so good for him, eager to please and his body tensed at the mere thought and it didn't take him long to reach his climax, coming hard onto the tiles in front, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he rested his forehead against the wall. He composed himself before he cleaned and washed himself off quickly, eager to get back to Youngwoo who he had left deep in conversation with Myeong Seok.

He knew that his fantasies would probably never come true but he was okay with that, knowing that having her around him was all he ever actually wanted.

Meanwhile, Youngwoo was sauntering along the dimly lit hallways of Junho’s safehouse, stopping to examine each and every object that caught her eye. Su-yeon had been showing her around before she had been called away for an emergency and Youngwoo had reassured her she would be fine on her own while she waited for Junho.

Junho had gone to wrap up some work while Youngwoo caught up with Jung Myeong Seok, the talk mostly consisting of him answering all her questions about working as an unofficial mob lawyer patiently. “Is Hanbada treating you well?” he had asked. “Yes, I like working there and the people have become more accepting lately too.” He had expressed his happiness at that, glad she was being recognised for her talents and not her disability.

He had to leave soon after for a scheduled call with a client he couldn't disclose to her and she had bid him goodbye, taking up Su-yeon’s offer to show her around.

Now she found herself alone but she didnt mind one bit, occupying herself with looking around. She turned around the hallway, frowning when she found it familiar from a few moments ago. Had she been going around in circles? Smacking herself lightly on the forehead she turned to go back the way she came. She walked back slowly, trying to map the house in her mind, decisively gripping the doorknob before she pushed it open, just to be met with an unfamiliar bedroom, frowning at her wrong door choice.

“Why is this house so huge?” she mumbled to no one in particular.

“Youngwoo?”

“Junho-ssi?” she peered into the room, eyes searching for the man she had been waiting for only for him to step out of the open closet with just a pair of grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, water droplets making way down his toned chest and stomach, his hair still wet from the shower. “Where’s Su-yeon?” he asked, walking towards her as she stared at him wide-eyed.

“Sh-she got called away,” she stammered out, breathing picking up a notch when he trapped her against the wall, her eyes staring a hole in the wall behind him. “Eyes up here kitten,” he mumbled softly, smiling when she made eye contact, her hands clenching and unclenching around thin air. “J-Junho,” she breathed out again, her heart beating faster when his thumb came to rest on the edge of her bottom lip. “So pretty,” he whispered, leaning in more, hot breath brushing against her ear.

His hand reached around her neck, tugging her headphones away gently before he placed them on the bed behind, his gaze falling on the necklace he had gifted her now that it wasnt obstructed.

“A-ah” she whimpered out, hands hesitantly resting on his shoulders.

“You want me to stop, you tell me to stop yeah?”

“Y-yes.”

“I need to hear you say it Youngwoo-yah.”

“If-if I tell you to stop, you stop?”

“Not a question. I stop.”

“Okay.”

As soon as that word left her mouth, his lips descended on hers, lips hot and desperate as she whimpered against him. His kiss was rough, ravaging her mouth as she clung to him desperately. “Ah- ah ah” she called out, pulling away finally for air, her hand extending into the air, flapping wildly as he moved back, panting heavily.

“Stop?” he asked, only for her to shake her head. “Again,” she whispered, standing up on her tip-toes to touch her fingers to his lips in wonder. He obliged albeit slower this time, her lips timidly moving against his.

He pressed her into the wall, her hands hovering uncertainly between them. She felt his large hand enclose around her wrists, tugging them up above her head and pinning them there and her knees shook, almost giving way at the sudden act of strength. His hand steadied her, tugging her closer but he did not break the kiss. He finally pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, thumb caressing her cheek softly.

“My pretty girl, you have no idea what you do to me do you?”

She shook her head, looking away from his intense gaze and chewed at her lip trying to calm her racing heart. “You drive me wild, the things I want to do to you,” his voice was low and deep and she could feel it down there in her stomach, heat rising from within. “Wh-what do you want to do?” she asked dazedly, tracing her finger against a tattoo of a coiled black snake that snaked up his arm.

“You want to know?” he asked and she nodded reflexively.

“Are you scared of me?" he asked again, lips trailing slowly down her neck as she cocked her head to the side. "Aniyo I am not scared of you. You may appear to scare someone because of your intimidating nature but otherwise you are-" voice hitching when his lips pressed against the swell of her breast over her dress. "Mhm continue" he said but her mind couldn't get back to the train of thought, now only focused on the hypersensitive touch of his lips over her clothed skin, brows furrowing.

"Speak baby, what's going on in that smart little brain of yours?" he asked, slowly kneeling down as she gulped and looked at the ceiling.

"J-Junho, I- is this a one time thing?" she suddenly asked as he looked up in surprise at the question posed. "One time thing?"

"L-Like a hookup?" she blurted out, making him stare at her before he stood up. "Hookup?" he repeated.

"Yes? Yes I- uh I don't want to continue if th-that's the thing on your mind. I know I am not someone who can be loved easily and I seem stupid to most people but I am okay with that. Y-You can have anyone you want, no one would ever say no to you and you have probably been with a lot of people before but not me. I have never even kissed properly before a few moments ago. Don’t- don’t guide me on if you are doing this for fun. Just don't do this and then leave the next day, I won't h-handle it well-" she broke off, tears forming in her eyes, her lip quivering as she wrung her hands somewhat agitatedly, Junho blinking at the sudden change in her behavior.

"Youngwoo? No I would never- hey look at me," he said quietly wiping away her tears but they only started to fall harder, her body shaking. "Please don't," she cried just when his arms wrapped around her firmly, pulling her into his chest. “I am sorry, shh, I am sorry, don't cry, please don't cry,” he whispered again and again till he felt her slowly relax in his hold, her cries dying down.

He turned her around slowly, brushing the stray tears that clung to her clammy skin away with his digits before he guided her over to the bed onto his lap, her legs on either side of him.

“Who filled that in your brain hm? Who told you that you are hard to love?” he asked, playing with the ends of her hair. “It's true, I am not a part of the world you live in and society doesn't like people who don't fit in,” she said quietly, her eyes darting across her lap.

“But I seem to fall more in love with you every moment sweetheart. Maybe we can just build our own world hm? Only you and me?” he teased, brushing his fingers against her waist making her move away, a small smile gracing her lips. “And whales,” she added. “Of course, whales are a must. Gimbap too.” It made her laugh as she nodded and wiped her hand across her eyes, trying to get rid of her blurry vision.

“This is not a one time thing,” he said turning serious, his voice deliberately slow. “This is not a one time thing,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “I am crazy about you, I don't know why or how but I am Youngwoo-yah. I think about you a lot and its driving me mad. I can’t seem to concentrate on work knowing I could be with you like this, so close, kissing you all over until that brain of yours only remembers my name,” he breathed out.

“Y-you occupy my mind too,” she blurted out, eyes fixed on his shoulder. “I do?”

“Yes, m-more than whales and dolphins, but you aren't one.”

“Well that's disappointing kitten, do you wish I was one?”

“Aniyo- that would be silly. I like you like- like this.”

A chuckle escaped his lips at the blush that rose on her cheeks. “Makes me very happy to hear
that,” his hands caressed her waist, lips pressing soft kisses against her nose and eyes.

“D-do you like me too?” her words made him pause.

“I think I need to show you in a better way how much I adore you,” he said and before she realised, her back was against the mattress, Junho hovering over her, eyes holding such an intense expression it made her shiver. “You”

lips pressing against the corner of her mouth

 “are”

lips against her jaw

 “so”

lips mumbling against the pulse of her neck

 “precious”

lips hovering against her collarbone

 “I”

lips brushing against the side of her breast

“lo-”

A deafening sound of what could be a gunshot rang somewhere, Youngwoo flinching, her hands coming to press against her ears. “Fuck” Junho cursed, glancing at Youngwoo who lay below him with her flushed cheeks and mussed up hair, eyes looking at him worriedly before they heard another sound, this time much closer.

“Up,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh, making her scramble up. He stumbled to his closet, hand closing around the firearm he always had at hand before he turned to see Youngwoo staring at him in shock. Her breathing picked up when he stepped closer, almost as she was afraid, her eyes trained on the gun in his hand.

He reached out for her, almost as if to reassure her that he would never hurt her only for the window in the room to shatter, raining glass inside. He snapped out of his daze, grabbing her arm and her headphones from where they lay on the bed before he opened the door to the bathroom, pushing her inside and securing them over her ears.

“Lock the door from inside and stay quiet, you only open it when I come back and these stay on until then” his tone leaving no room for argument. “D-don't- dont get hurt,” she sniffled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “I can’t promise you that, but I promise I won’t let anyone even touch a hair on your head,” he said, stepping back before he left, closing the door softly, unknowingly taking along a piece of her heart with him.


Felix can’t believe he’s going to do this again. After his last time at the bookshop he promised himself he’d not follow the couple again if they went to a secluded area. Yet, there he stands, hidden behind a bookshelf whilst he watches Minho stack books as he waits for Chan so they can probably suck face. At least that’s what happened last time… among other steamier things that make Felix blush if he thinks too much about it. Which again, is more than enough reason for him not to be there. He feels guilty.

This was supposed to be about taking cute photos of the couple’s wholesome moments but it’s gone far beyond that. He realises now he’d been overstepping several moral boundaries by watching the couple so intently for so long. He’s… he’s a stalker, isn’t he? Fuck, he totally is. He might not follow them home, but with how much he’s captured of their lives on camera, he’s definitely in the category.

Not only that. Now he’s stooped to a new low. Watching the couple be together like this when they clearly sought privacy – although still in a public place – was so wrong. However, he couldn’t stop himself from following Minho when he climbed the stairs again, and he can’t control his finger as he takes some pictures of him from the slit in the row of books. These aren’t photos he’ll be posting though. These are just for him.

Just shows how much of a stalker he is. Damn. He’s ashamed, he truly is. He’s been taught better than that. His mother would give him the scolding of his life if she ever knew about it. Even Hyunjin would. But neither Hyunjin nor his mother are there to stop him, and the weight on his conscience loses to the desire to see the couple together again. They sound so pretty while they kiss, the few words they shared and he managed to hear were teasing, sexy. The hushed whispers he couldn’t make words out of were even worse, instigating his imagination to fill in the gaps.

Chan passes by the section he’s in without noticing him, a tall pile of books shielding him. Differently from the previous time, Minho sees him coming, beckons him with a wiggly finger and a sly smirk, one of someone who knows how sexy he is. And fuck, he really is. Felix has to wipe drool from his lips, because just seeing Minho like this gets him going. It’s so wrong; these expressions aren’t even for him, they’re only for Chan, and yet there he is, witnessing everything first hand. It’s like a forbidden apple, and Felix is risking everything to take a bite out of it. If only he knew how into it the couple is…

Just when Chan is within reach, Minho pulls him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the back of the corridor, his back hitting the books harshly as he loses his footing. Minho doesn’t let that stop him though, kissing Chan like nothing happened. Felix holds his breath as he watches them.

“You’re being too loud baby,” Chan says lowly, voice dropping an octave. He grabs Minho’s hair and pulls it back, making him look into his eyes. Minho usually stands a centimetre taller than Chan, but with him backed up against the bookshelf he looks a bit smaller, and Felix has difficulty seeing much of him. What he can see, though, is Minho looking smugly at Chan, that cheshire grin never leaving his face. Felix bites his lip.

Sexy.

Minho is effortlessly sexy, making Felix’s mind reel at the thought that this isn’t something new between them if they’re so comfortable doing these things in public. For the first time he wonders if maybe the couple doing it in public like this might mean they actually like the idea of someone watching them like he is.

“And what are you gonna do about it, huh?” Minho challenges Chan. “You say we gotta be quiet, yet here we are.”

Chan groans as Minho hits the jackpot. Yeah, he likes this too, whatever. “You’re such a brat, Min, no need to rub it in, baby, you like it too.”

Daddy, is the thought that crosses Felix’s mind. He’s never thought of calling anyone that, but Chan? He craves it. It feels right. Holding back a whimper, he digs his nails into his palm to keep himself from doing something shameful. Gosh, he wishes so bad he could see Chan’s face when he’s called that. Would he like it? Would that make him pin him to a wall like he did with Minho that first day on the second floor?

A flurry of motion and a dull thud take him from his spiralling thoughts. Chan turned Minho around, shoving him face first against the books. Minho moans louder as he’s pressed to the bookshelf, Chan’s whole body pushed against his. “You need to shut your mouth if you don’t wanna get us caught, Min.” Chan says the words sternly and bites at Minho’s ear. Felix is glad Minho whines, because he lets out a little sound of his own as well. They’re so hot, he can almost taste blood from how hard he’s biting down on his lip to keep quiet.

From then onwards Minho doesn’t talk anymore, and Felix watches raptly as Minho scrunches his eyes and puts a hand over his mouth as he tries to keep quiet. Chan’s body covers most of what they’re doing, but Felix can see how he rocks his hips against Minho’s ass, the hand that is not in Minho’s hair pushing him to the wall going around Minho’s body to his front. What that hand is doing there is left to his imagination though. Is Chan’s hand inside Minho’s pants or outside, teasing him to no end? He can’t tell, but he needs to know.

He might be insane, but he decides to move closer, and silently enough that the couple’s ragged breathing covers for any sound he might make, he kneels down and pulls three books further ahead on the shelf away, lower so he faces more of their middles than their faces, and sets them down on a pile beside him. The new spot is dangerous, he can almost see Chan’s face if he looks up, but he gets almost a side view of them, meaning he can see the heel of Chan’s hand grinding on the obvious bulge of Minho’s pants, the arch of Minho’s back and the roll of his hips pushing back against Chan’s hard-on.

He can see Minho’s thick thighs so fucking close, quivering and working along with his hips, the veins and muscles on Chan’s arm tensing as he cups Minho’s dick through his trousers. Minho’s mouth is still covered, but the tiny sounds that slip through are so airy and pretty, fitting perfectly with Chan’s grunts and groans.

Felix wants to touch himself so fucking bad, this is better than any porn he has ever watched. His dick twitches and rubs against his pants as he squirms in place, and when they start talking to each other again, telling each other how good they feel, how much they love each other, how they’d fuck each other silly if they were at home... Felix thinks he might cream his pants without even touching himself after all.

The closer Minho gets to coming, the whinier he gets, and to help him reach his orgasm, the hand on Minho’s hair lets go and trails down to find one of Minho’s nipples, teasing it in circles, pinching it until Minho’s hips stutter and he starts warning Chan of his release. “Chan-nie, p-lease,” Minho hiccups amidst moans, “G-gonna c-cum, f-fuck–” He cries quietly, holding back his noises to the best of his ability.

Felix wants to come as well, wants to beg them to let him, but he holds back from touching himself altogether. He’s already gone too far, and he doubts he can keep quiet if he dares wrap a hand around himself. He blushes at the thought, how much of a pervert he is if he’s even considering whipping his dick out in a public bookshop while voyeuring an unsuspecting couple? Or as unsuspecting as one can be doing all that in public… Fucking hell, just thinking how they would punish him if they were ever to find out he was spying, how hard would they be on him?

Minho gasps, and before he can outright scream into the air in the silent bookshop, Chan puts a hand over his mouth, cutting his sound almost completely. Minho’s eyes roll back, as do Felix’s as he soils his pants along with Minho. He holds his breath and slumps against the shelf while the couple winds down as well. He can’t even tell if Chan came, but he’s gonna guess he did. There’s no way he could’ve not when Minho is just so pretty unraveling like that.

After Minho and Chan leave their little corner, Felix walks away too, leaving the bookshop without looking at the couple as shame heats up his ears and coils around his stomach. He promises himself he won’t be back, that he’ll put an end to his madness. He’s better than a pervert that watches people in their private moments… He really is…

He… he is… right?

He’s... not.

He’s in fact a filthy pervert who is spying on the couple again. Minho is against the wall again, this time with his legs spread as he sits on top of a tall stack of books, Chan grinding their dicks together while sucking at Minho’s neck and talking dirty by his ear. And Felix is at his new spot, kneeling on the ground and hiding behind the shelf like it's his reserved spot for a show. Minho and Chan do make a show out of it though.

Hushed whispers, quiet moans and hands exploring, they leave nothing behind. And today Chan seems to be twice as hungry, tasting the sweat that builds on Minho’s skin like it is water in the desert, Minho holding on to him for dear life as the stack of books sways underneath him from the strength of Chan’s hips against him.

Perhaps it’s because he’s not been caught after so much has happened, but Felix is feeling bolder today, and before he can grasp what he’s doing, his hands are on his dick over his well-fitted jean shorts. He almost chokes as his hand finally gives him some relief, and right away he can tell this is a big mistake. He’s not used to being quiet, he’s as whiny as one gets, and he’s treading turbulent waters already just with the visual stimulation. The rough fabric over his soft underwear gives him that much friction though, and the pressure of his hand throws him into a haze in which his only thought is to seek more.

He watches Minho and Chan basically dry hump each other over their clothes, mouths less than an inch apart and breathing hot puffs of air in each other’s faces. They look starved for each other even if they clearly get it on often. It only makes it hotter for Felix, to see such passion between the couple he’s seen being so soft for so long. It’s so different to see this fire between them, burning hotter than hell and as intensely as their love, their hot embers making Felix burn as well.

Minho and Chan come, their voices mingling so prettily together as they keep grinding until they’re both done and only their quiet heaving fills their little corner. Felix is close too. He’s so into it, he’s so close and their lazy aftermath kiss, all tongue and drool and so fucking messy throws him over the edge. But he slips up. He comes with a high-pitched moan, not too loud, but loud enough there’s no way the couple hasn’t heard it.

His eyes shoot open and he panics, pulling away from the bookshelf he had leaned his forehead on and falling to his ass. He tries to get up quickly and get the fuck out of there before Chan puts those huge arms to good use on Felix and not in a way he’ll like, but his legs feel like jelly under him and he trips, falling again and even letting his phone slip away from his grasp.

He looks forward to where it slid to the entrance of the section he’s in. His breath is punched away from him, his blood drains from his face and limbs so fast his vision even darkens for a second. His phone is beneath a foot. Minho’s foot. And behind Minho is Chan. Fuck. He’s so fucking fucked. As fucked as someone will ever be. He can see his name in a newspaper cover already: “bookshop pervert caught spying on people”. This is how his life ends.

He can’t breathe or get up, and with both of them standing there he doubts there’s any point in trying to run anyway. He’s been caught.

Minho takes his phone and saunters over to him with Chan on his tail.

“Tsk tsk, naughty boy~” Minho says slowly, his index finger tutting along with him. Felix is trembling, stuck in place since his body has decided that running isn’t an option. He’s scared, Minho has a dangerous look on his face that Felix can’t really discern what it means, although it seems to hold some amusement. “What shall we do with you, hm?”

“Minho, you’re scaring him,” Chan reprimands Minho, then crouches in front of Felix, raising a hand to his cheek, fingers brushing lightly over his skin, as if he’s trying to show he means no harm, but Felix flinches all the same. “You poor thing, don’t be so scared, we’re not mad.” Chan smiles softly at him, doing his best to sound soothing and not horny with the whole ordeal.

Felix perks up at his words, looks up at Minho, who’s still standing, with wide eyes, then back at Chan, as if he can’t believe it. “Y-you’re not?”

Both Chan and Minho’s eyes widen, Chan looking up at Minho and scoffing in disbelief. Felix’s voice is nothing like they thought it’d be. It’s so deep, not fitting the moan they heard or his cute face at all. It’s hot though, and Chan can already imagine how much Minho will love getting him to crack and moan all high-pitched and cute for him. Well, Chan will enjoy doing that very much too. That is, if Felix agrees to their proposition.

“We knew you were there from the beginning.” Minho smirks, crouching beside Chan and offering Felix his phone back as if to show him it was ok. “We’ve seen your thread. We’ve been watching you too, you know?” Minho smiles when Felix takes it with a shaky hand. “Our very own little stalker.” Minho titters.

Felix pales again despite both saying they aren’t mad. “Y-you- I- I’m so sorry, I can delete it! And I didn’t record anything up here I promise–” he tries to apologise, but is interrupted by Chan’s finger on his lips. He gulps loudly, cheeks flaring.

“We’re not mad, Felix,” Chan says, “but sneaky perverts need to be punished, don’t you think, little pixie?” he smirks, biting on his lip as his eyes rake Felix’s tiny frame. He’s Chan’s height, but sitting on the ground and watching them with big wary eyes he looks so small. He’s thinner than both of them too, doesn’t have all the meat Minho has on his thighs or the build of muscles Chan has on his arms and shoulders.

Chan’s way of putting it seems to finally hit Felix, and once more his eyes flick between Minho and Chan, trying to assess if he’s understanding well what is going on. His throat feels dry at the pet name, he likes it way too much. Chan’s voice is like honey to his ears, sickly sweet and enticing. It feels like a dream, but he’s getting whiplash from all that is going on. First he discovers they knew he was there… for how long? And if they knew why did they let him continue…? Does that mean it was ok that he did it? Did they like knowing Felix was there?

“I… I don’t think I understand…”

“Oh, I think you do, little pixie.” Minho smirks as Felix’s pupils double in size at the nickname, then he kneels and leans forward. Felix can’t even move to lean away, just gasps when Minho’s face stops an inch away from his. “Do you want to join us? Wanna let us put you in your place? We’ll take very good care of you, I promise you that.”

Felix gawks, looks at Chan, then at Minho again, trying to gauge if he’s going insane and imagining the whole thing.

“Only if you want to…” Chan says, “but like I said… naughty boys like you need to be punished, don’t you think, pixie?” Chan tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

“J-join b-both of you…?” he croaks out, then clears his throat, “A-are you sure? I…”

“Only if you want to, of course.” Chan reassures him. “If you don’t want to, you can just walk away.”

Like Felix would ever refuse such an opportunity.

“I want to, I’d love to…” he blushes, avoiding their intense gazes on him.

Chan and Minho smile at him, bright and satisfied, and help him to his feet. There’s a moment of silence and then Chan extends his hand to him. “I’m Bang Chan, nice to meet you Felix.”

Felix blushes, reaching his hand out to shake Chan’s. “Uh.. nice to meet you.”

“Well, aren’t you two cute?” Minho rolls his eyes. “I need to get back to work, but you should discuss things with him, Channie-hyung.”

“T-things…?”

Minho blinks blankly at him. “Boundaries. If we’re doing this we have to set some, know what you’re comfortable with.” Felix nods eagerly, still unbelieving that this is really happening. Is this really ok? He had been doing something so wrong, and yet they’re acting as if everything is fine.

“If you have time, we can sit at the bookshop’s cafe and talk a bit,” Chan offers, knowing very well that Felix has at least two more hours free, because he’s usually watching him flirt from afar with Minho whilst he works.

“S-sure… but…”

Both of them stop in their tracks, waiting for what Felix has to say.

“Isn’t it better to wait for all of us to be together…? I…” he doesn’t know how to put it, but it’s kind of hard to believe both of them are really agreeing with this. Why would they even want Felix, their stalker, to do anything with them when they have each other?

“I’ll join you guys whenever I catch a break, but don’t worry, I trust Chan to discuss this with you, and this whole thing was my idea anyway, so…” Minho shrugs, as if it’s nothing much. To Felix it is a whole lot though. Minho had planned this? This... what? Is he falling into a trap? Will Minho call the police while he talks to Chan?

“Hey,” Chan snaps him out of his own head, “If you’re not comfortable with this, you can walk away anytime, no hard feelings.” Felix searches his eyes for lies, a trick, anything, but he can’t find any. He… Chan seems like someone he can trust, although he’s probably biased from watching him from afar too much.

“O-ok, let’s talk.”

With that, Minho goes to his station behind the central counter, and Chan accompanies him to the cafe. They sit at the last table, close to the mathematics section, where Chan knows there’s usually no one sticking around for too long and they’ll have more privacy. Felix sits down first, Chan pulling his chair close to his by the round table so they can talk more quietly without risking anyone eavesdropping on them. Although the only one who would do such a thing in this bookshop sits next to him.

Finally.

An awkward silence settles between them, with Felix fiddling with his fingers and looking down at his hands or away from Chan, feeling both a bit wary of the situation and shy.

Chan clears his throat, trying to drown his natural awkwardness by leading the conversation. Usually he’d leave that to Minho, since he’s much more blunt with what he wants, but he can do this. He wants to make this work. He’s about to try and make at least small talk and break the ice when Felix beats him to it.

“Is this really ok?”

Chan tries to read Felix’s expression – he looks worried. Well, if Chan had been caught doing what Felix did… he'd be as well.

“It really is, don’t worry, Felix,” Chan says reassuringly, “You know, a friend of ours found your thread many weeks ago. And although I was kind of scared at first,” Chan laughs, continuing before Felix starts apologising again, “Minho was really eager from the start to play with you. I ended up being swayed pretty easily too.”

“But… why?”

“You’re cute. Your reactions to us are nice, your view on our relationship is adorable, and you’re a bit of a pervert.” Chan sees Felix’s eyebrows frowning again and rushes to add, “That was a compliment, by the way.”

“O-oh,” Felix’s blush spreads to his ears, from this up close, Chan can almost count his pretty freckles. And just like that it’s like a switch is flipped in him, his awkwardness swiftly drifting away.

“Do you like that, pixie? Like being called a pervert?” He whispers, watching how Felix’s Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, his teeth catching his lower lip briefly as he nods positively. “I need words, pixie.”

“Y-yeah, I like it,” Felix answers, his gaze still not meeting Chan’s.

“And do you think you can be a good boy for us?” Chan tests the waters, knowing very well that Felix might not be into what both of them want from this encounter even if he enjoyed spying on them during their little adventures.

Felix gulps, face red as a tomato. He wants to. It’s very embarrassing, but he really wants to be good for them.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Chan adds, a little flustered himself.

“Is Minho-ssi really okay with this?”

Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “He’ll get off on it as much as I will, don’t worry. You can ask him later if you’d rather confirm with him too. You can also call him hyung, he’ll like that a lot,” Chan smiles.

Felix can’t believe it’s really happening. However the more he talks with Chan the more he learns he means every word he says. So they keep chatting, Felix loosening up little by little as they wait for Minho to show up, and once he does, he sits at the table with the biggest smile ever. He kisses Chan softly, then winks at Felix, as if it is a treat to him and not his boyfriend. It sends all kinds of butterflies in his stomach flying.

“So, what did I miss?”

Chan fills him in on some things Felix and him discussed, like a safety system in case any of them got uncomfortable, in which they settled for the colour system for the sake of simplicity, some of Felix’s hard noes and some of theirs that Chan had told Felix about. Minho hummed and listened in silence for the most part, nodding at times to confirm he was paying attention.

“So what I gather from all this is that little pixie will be a very good boy, hm.” Minho grins, a fingertip rubbing the back of Felix’s hand as he leans to whisper in Felix’s ear. “Are you, little pixie? Will you be a good boy for Channie-hyung and me?”

Felix feels like he must’ve been a saint in his previous life to deserve Minho and Chan talking to him like that, scrambling his brain with sugary words that sounded so dirty. “Yes…” Felix looks at Minho, “I’ll be good for hyungs.”

For the first time since Minho joined them he’s the one a little flustered. Of course, there’s no problem with that. It’s not like Minho isn’t used to being called hyung, it’s more about how adorable Felix looks as he says it, with those big innocent sparkly eyes that make him want to do unspeakable things to him.

“Did the fairy catch your tongue, baby?” Chan teases him, breaking him out of the daze Felix had put him on. He blushes, being put in the spotlight like this.

He stammers a quick “s-shut up” and stands up. “Well, since we’re done here, I’ll get back to work. Set up a meeting with him, Channie-hyung! Bye~” he runs away from the scene, leaving a chuckling Chan and a shocked Felix behind.

And so the conversation goes for long minutes, with Minho sometimes showing up again, being mostly covered by a very grumpy Changbin. By the time they’re done and Felix gets up to go home, his legs feel like gelatine under him, and he’s sure it’s because all his blood is concentrated in his flaming cheeks and his hummingbird heart.

He has… a threesome scheduled… with none other than his favourite couple.