As Tsuki slipped into the sheer nightgown, its delicate, net-like fabric catching the dim glow of Shuichi's bedside lamp, a question nagged at him. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the fabric and the faint hum of the city beyond the window, the air tinged with the lingering scent of pop rocks and Tsuki's subtle perfume. His gaze narrowing as he watched her adjust the gown, its translucent weave barely concealing her form. "Don't you sleep in that?" He asked, his voice laced with curiosity. "I remember you used to wear pajamas—like that blue-and-white striped set when you were sick, and I stopped by in the morning."
Tsuki paused, her fingers lingering on the gown's hem, her expression shifting to one of playful reproach. She turned to face him, her eyes glinting with a mock pout that barely hid her amusement. "I was saving it for a surprise," She said, her voice tinged with a teasing grievance. "Thought maybe you'd sneak over one night for a little… adventure. But you never did." Her words carried a hint of challenge, her lips curving into a sly smile as she leaned forward slightly, her posture daring him to respond. 'Is sneaking into a maid's room not fun enough for you?' Her eyes seemed to ask, a silent accusation wrapped in her usual mischief.
'Night raids?' He thought, amused but exasperated. His days were a whirlwind of school, work, and relentless entanglements—from dawn workouts to late-night study sessions, he barely had energy left for midnight escapades. 'I'm not some cybernetic beast,' He mused, recalling the grueling pace of his routine. The one time he'd "raided" Fumika's place was a fluke, born of an early crash after an exhausting day, leaving him unexpectedly refreshed at midnight. "Enough chatter," He said, his tone firm but playful, waving off her complaint. "Put that gown on properly and get to cleaning."
Tsuki let out a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping in mock defeat as she tugged the gown into place. "Fine," She muttered, her voice a petulant grumble as she grabbed a rag from a nearby shelf, the soft cotton damp from earlier use. With a theatrical huff, she dropped to her knees and crawled under the desk, her movements deliberate, her role as the dutiful "maid" embraced with a mix of reluctance and glee. The desk's underside was cramped, the air cool against her skin, the faint scent of wood polish mingling with the dust she stirred.
Shuichi nodded, a satisfied smirk crossing his face as he reached for a book from the cluttered desk, its pages worn from frequent use. Settling back, he propped the book open, his posture studiously upright, the picture of a master engrossed in his studies while his maid toiled below. The soft scratch of Tsuki's rag against the floor was a rhythmic counterpoint to the quiet turning of pages, the room a tableau of playful hierarchy.
Tsuki, ever the defiant "victim," puffed out her cheeks in silent protest, her indignation a performative act she relished. Trapped in her role, she found solace in a small rebellion, her fingers sneaking into the pocket of her gown to retrieve a candy wrapper. The crinkle of plastic was faint but unmistakable, a sound that pierced the room's quiet like a needle. Shuichi's brow furrowed, his focus shattered, his expression hardening as the noise registered. Setting the book down with a deliberate thud, he pushed his chair back, the casters scraping softly against the floor, and leaned down to peer at her.
"Seriously?" He said, his voice a mix of exasperation and amusement as he poked her cheek, his finger sinking into the soft, warm flesh. "What kind of maid eats candy while working? Focus on the job." His tone was stern, but a spark of mischief in his eyes betrayed his enjoyment of the game.
Tsuki's cheeks puffed out further, her eyes narrowing in mock defiance, but she offered no retort, her mouth full of the offending sweet. Shuichi shook his head, picking up his book and scooting the chair forward, resuming his reading with an air of nonchalance, his legs swaying slightly as he settled back into the rhythm of study. Below, Tsuki muttered under her breath, her indignation a quiet storm, but she resumed her cleaning, the rag moving in brisk, petulant strokes.
After a moment, Shuichi's voice broke the silence, his tone casual but probing. "Next week's exams," He said, his eyes still on the page. "You're good, right? You've been… distracted lately. Less time studying, more time playing games."
Tsuki, caught mid-scrub, bristled at the question, her rag pausing as she swallowed her candy. "No problem," She mumbled, her voice muffled by her position and her lingering sulk. "First place is mine." Her confidence was bold, a spark of her usual bravado shining through, a reminder of the fierce intellect beneath her playful exterior.
Shuichi's lips twitched, a quiet admiration for her swagger. He reached down, his fingers brushing her cheek, the touch light but teasing. "And the class rep?" He asked, his voice curious. "An's a bit… spacey. How'd you get her grades up to stellar?"
Tsuki hesitated, her reluctance evident in the way she shifted, her rag slowing. "She'll be fine," she said, her voice grudging. "It's not hard. I tutor her every night, give her a quick quiz, and if she does well, she gets a treat. Don't let her ditziness fool you—when it comes to snacks, she's a genius." Her words were laced with a mix of pride and exasperation, a testament to her unorthodox but effective methods.
"Like pop rocks?" Shuichi asked, leaning back, his hands gripping the chair's armrests as he slid lower, his posture relaxed, the chair tilting slightly under his weight.
Tsuki hummed, her voice a soft, discontented sound. "Yeah… or, if she aces a test, I splurge—take her to the store, let her pick a thousand yen's worth of snacks." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but a hint of amusement crept in, her fondness for her sister's quirks evident.
"A thousand yen?" Shuichi echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief, a laugh bubbling up. 'That's it?' He thought, incredulous. A ten-thousand-yen shopping spree would probably have An trailing him like a puppy, no deception needed. The simplicity of her motivations was almost comical, a stark contrast to the complexities of his own entanglements.
Tsuki, oblivious to his thoughts, continued her work, her frustration mounting as Shuichi's foot remained stubbornly in her way. With a huff, she grasped his ankle, lifting it with exaggerated effort and tucking it against her lap, her thighs clamping around it to hold it steady. The contact was warm, her skin soft and yielding, and Shuichi, caught off guard, wiggled his toes, savoring the sensation. His frown softened, a quiet pleasure spreading through him as she scrubbed the spot his foot had occupied, her movements brisk but precise.
The cleaning stretched on, Tsuki's efforts transforming the desk's underside into a spotless haven, the faint scent of lemon polish lingering in the air. Finally, Shuichi stood, stretching with a satisfied grunt, and headed to the bathroom, the sound of running water signaling his nightly ritual. His penchant for cleanliness was relentless—two showers a day, minimum, a habit born of necessity given his hectic, often sweaty schedule.
When he returned, his hair damp and his skin faintly scented with soap, Tsuki was still there, nestled in his bed, her lips caught between her teeth in a nervous, anticipatory bite. The blankets were warm from her body, a cozy cocoon that beckoned. "Master," She said, her voice a teasing murmur, "The bed's all warmed up. Next, your maid's hug-pillow duty, right? But we can't stay too late—gotta be back before An-chan wakes up."
Shuichi, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion, waved off her theatrics, too tired for her games. He lifted the blanket, sliding in beside her, and delivered a playful swat to her backside, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Quit yapping," He said, his voice gruff but fond. "If she catches you, let her see her sister's true colors. Show her how much of a freak you are."
Tsuki let out a delighted squeak, her body tensing with excitement. "No way, Master!" She protested, her voice quivering with mock horror, though her eyes gleamed with thrill. Shuichi, too sleepy to indulge further, pulled her close, his arms encircling her, one leg draping over hers as he drifted into sleep, the warmth of her body a soothing anchor in the night.
---
Morning arrived, soft and hazy, the first light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Shuichi stirred, his eyes still closed, a faint awareness of movement in his arms rousing him. The memory of Tsuki's presence flooded back, her warmth a quiet comfort against his chest. He kept his eyes shut, savoring the languid moment, his hands lazily tracing the contours of her form through the sheer nightgown, the fabric's texture a delicate friction against her skin. Tsuki, already restless, squirmed in his embrace, her legs pressed tightly together, her breath uneven as she clung to him, her fingers gripping his thigh, her face flushed with a feverish glow.
Shuichi, half-lost in the haze of morning, didn't question how long she'd been stirring or whether the cat had snuck in to lap at its milk. His focus was singular, the softness of her body a grounding presence as he slowly shed the remnants of sleep. Time seemed to blur, minutes stretching into an indeterminate haze, until he finally sat up, his mind clear, his body refreshed. Tsuki, ever the dutiful maid, knelt to help him dress, her movements brisk despite the lingering flush on her cheeks.
She'd already darted to her apartment earlier, retrieving her school uniform, which now lay in a crumpled pile on the floor. Unhurried, she remained in the nightgown, guiding Shuichi to the bathroom with an exaggerated air of servitude, insisting on assisting with his morning routine. "Told you, no need for this," Shuichi said, his voice laced with exasperation as he stood, his brow furrowed.
"It's a maid's duty," Tsuki replied, her expression earnest, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "You said so yourself, Master."
"You're just asking for it," Shuichi muttered, his face darkening as he endured her antics, the process dragging on until he finally emerged, free of her overzealous care. "Get your uniform on," He said, his tone firm. "Don't you have school?"
"There's time," Tsuki said, undeterred, promptly bending over the bed, her posture provocative as she wiggled slightly. "Want to spank me, Master?" Her voice was a teasing lilt, her invitation clear.
Shuichi sighed, shaking his head, but his hand found her waist, pinning her in place as he delivered a series of sharp swats, each one reddening her skin, the heat radiating under his palm. "Morning, night—you never stop, do you?" He asked, his voice a mix of frustration and amusement.
"Never," Tsuki replied, her head lifting defiantly, her eyes blazing with fervor. "I want to be punished forever." Her voice was fervent, her thrill unmistakable.
Shuichi stared, at a loss, before rubbing his temples in defeat. "The courier's coming this afternoon," He said, changing the subject. "You'll have plenty to deal with then. And since you cleaned under the desk yesterday, tonight you're doing the rest of the place."
Tsuki's eyes lit up, her excitement palpable as she finally relented, her focus shifting to the promise of new games.
---
The morning passed quietly, the school's rhythm a soothing hum of lectures and chatter, the air crisp with the promise of fall. At noon, Shuichi lounged on the rooftop terrace, sharing a bento with the Akiyama sisters, the city sprawling below, a tapestry of rooftops and distant skyscrapers. The bento was An's handiwork, its simple ingredients elevated by her earnest care, the flavors bright and comforting.
An, oblivious, chattered happily, her voice a cheerful melody as she recounted her day's small triumphs. Shuichi, enjoying the moment, was interrupted by a message from Naomi, the notification pinging softly on his phone. [Shuichi-kun, today at noon…] The message trailed off, but its intent was clear, a quiet summons that stirred his curiosity. He replied swiftly, pocketing the phone and pushing his remaining bento toward An, who squealed with delight, her eyes wide with gratitude. "Wow, Shuichi-kun, you're amazing today!" She exclaimed, diving into his leftovers with gusto, her joy infectious.
Tsuki's eyes narrowed, her intuition sharp. "Nagase-sensei?" She asked, her voice low, her fingers tightening on his sleeve.
"Not Nagase-sensei," Shuichi said, his voice hushed, leaning close to explain. "Another teacher, but you can't come. She's not ready for your… intensity. If you want to play, stick with Nagase-sensei." His words were firm.
Tsuki licked her lips, her gaze gleaming with intrigue. "You're incredible, Shuichi-kun," She said, her voice a mix of admiration and envy. "Another teacher? I'm betting it's Hajime-sensei." Her guess was uncanny, her mind already weaving scenarios, her thrill at his conquests evident.
"Don't mess this up," Shuichi warned, his tone stern as he stood, his eyes locking with hers. "Hajime-sensei's different from Nagase-sensei."
"Got it," Tsuki said, her grin widening. "I'll wait till you've got her wrapped around your finger, then I'll join the fun." Her confidence was unshakable, her faith in his charm a testament to her own audacity.
---
Shuichi arrived at the infirmary, the door ajar, the room bathed in the soft glow of midday light filtering through the curtains. Naomi stood by her desk, her posture tense, her expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. The air was heavy with the scent of antiseptic, tempered by the faint lavender of her diffuser, a quiet attempt to soften the clinical space. Her eyes met his, and she caught the irrepressible curve of his smile, a knowing glint that sparked her irritation.
"Are you here to comfort me or just to rile me up?" She asked, her voice sharp, her patience frayed. His smile, smug and teasing, seemed to mock her earlier resolve—'Wasn't it supposed to be the last time? Why'd you cave again, Teacher?'—and it stung, her mood already brittle from the day's weight.
Shuichi's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "A bit of both," He admitted, his voice low and provocative. "You're cuter when you're mad. Let it out, yell at me, whatever—better than bottling it up."
Naomi's eyes flashed, her frustration boiling over. Her temper, usually gentle, was pushed to its limit by his brazenness. She grabbed his collar, pulling him close, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips trembling as she bit them. "Does bullying me make you happy?"
Shuichi softened, his teasing giving way to empathy as he sensed her breaking point. With a quiet sigh, he cupped her cheek, his touch gentle, and drew her into his arms, her body tense but yielding. "It's okay," He murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "Even teachers get to cry. And I'm not just any student, right?" His words were a quiet reassurance.
"I'm not crying," Naomi said, her voice stubborn, though the dampness against his chest betrayed her.
"You can," Shuichi said, his tone gentle, encouraging.
"I won't," She insisted, her voice steady despite the tears. "It's not my fault."
"But I want you to," Shuichi said, his voice soft, pained by her restraint. "Seeing you hold it in hurts me too." His hands moved with care, stroking her hair, her face, her back, a tender rhythm to coax her emotions free.
Naomi didn't reply, but her silent tears soaked his shirt, a quiet release she couldn't stifle. Shuichi patted her back, his touch light, and prompted her to share. "What happened today? Family again?" He asked, his voice gentle. "Why not move out? You know I've got empty shops—you could stay in one, just for a bit." His offer was earnest, though he wasn't sure if the system would allow it. If not, the management office had space, or even his own apartment—An had already half-joked about crashing there.
"Not family this time," Naomi said, her voice low, her tears falling silently. "Old friends, classmates—they heard about… everything. They came to 'check on me,' but their words… they pitied me, like I'd thrown away something perfect." Her voice was calm, but the hurt was palpable, a wound reopened by their veiled judgments.
"Bet they hinted you blew it with a great fiancé, ruined a perfect engagement," Shuichi said, his tone sharp but empathetic, filling in the blanks.
"Not quite that blatant," Naomi said, her voice soft, "But close." Her tears flowed quietly, her composure a fragile mask as she recounted their words, their subtle barbs cutting deeper than she'd expected.
She lifted her head, her eyes red and glistening, her expression heartbreakingly fragile. Cupping his face, she asked, her voice trembling, "Tell me, am I charming?"
"No one could resist you," Shuichi said, his voice warm, his fingers tracing her cheek as he leaned in, kissing her lips softly. The taste was salty, tinged with the bitterness of her tears, a poignant reminder of her pain.
"I'm beautiful, right?" She asked, her voice seeking confirmation, her eyes searching his.
"Stunning," Shuichi said, his voice reverent, kissing her again as he slid her white coat from her shoulders. "I never dared dream of you before." His words were a quiet confession, his hands gentle as they moved.
Naomi's fingers fumbled with her blouse buttons, her movements cooperative but driven by a need for reassurance. "Seeing me makes you want to do bad things, doesn't it?" She asked, her voice a mix of vulnerability and provocation.
"Every day without you, I miss you so much it aches," Shuichi said, kissing her cheeks, brushing away her tears, his voice a quiet promise of devotion.
Her hand rested on his chest, her breaths soft and teasing. "Here?" She asked, her voice a sultry whisper, her touch igniting a spark.
"Right there," He said, his voice low, as they moved to the infirmary bed, her body half-reclining, her arms outstretched, the delicate lace in her hand slipping to the floor with a trembling grace.
"Be bad with me," She murmured, her voice a quiet invitation. "Feel my charm."
Shuichi leaned close, his voice muffled against her. "Have you thought about moving?" He asked, revisiting his earlier offer, his concern undimmed.
Naomi's eyes remained closed, her fingers threading through his hair, savoring his warmth. "Please, don't," She said, her voice soft but firm. "We can't be together, Shuichi-kun. Don't hope for too much—I can't give you what you want. Society won't allow it, and trying would only end in tragedy." Her words were a quiet plea, a boundary she couldn't cross.
"Just living on the same street?" Shuichi pressed, his voice gentle, kissing her lightly. "That's too much?"
"No," Naomi said, her resolve unwavering. "This is really the last time. I was selfish today, but I'll control myself after this. Focus on now, okay? Make it count." Her voice was steady, a finality that brooked no argument.
"Alright," Shuichi said, accepting her words, though a spark of skepticism lingered. 'Last time, sure,' he thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Can you use the glycerin again, Teacher? My skin's dry." His request was playful, a nod to their previous encounter.
Naomi bit her lip, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she recalled the moment. "Okay," She murmured, her voice soft, acquiescing.
"Should I grab the gloves and glycerin?" Shuichi asked, his tone eager but respectful.
"Yes," She said, her voice barely above a whisper, her consent a quiet acknowledgment of her own indulgence.
Shuichi stood, unconcerned about breaking the moment's intensity, confident there'd be other chances. 'Last time? That's just a flag,' he thought. He retrieved the nitrile gloves and glycerin from the cabinet, their pristine white surfaces glinting under the light, the bottle's contents a promise of slick comfort.
Naomi leaned against the bed's headboard, her hair tousled, her blouse open, her posture an invitation that stirred him. Shuichi didn't just watch this time, embracing his youth's prerogative to be bold, nestling against her, his cheek pressed to her chest as he helped her don the gloves, his fingers lingering on her slender hands. "Your hands are gorgeous," He said, his voice warm, tracing their delicate contours. "Soft, pale, like they're boneless." He kissed her knuckles gently, a reverent gesture before sliding the gloves on, their fit accentuating her elegance.
"Want me to apply it directly?" Naomi asked, her voice soft, noting his fixation, her eyes searching his.
Shuichi blinked, caught off guard, then shook his head, a grin breaking through. "Nah, that'd ruin the vibe," He said, his tone playful. "You're not used to it either, right? This is perfect—more, and I'd miss you too much." His words were a deft deflection, preserving the unique ritual that set her apart from Tsuki, Fumika, or Sayuki.
Naomi's eyes softened, a wave of gratitude washing over her. She leaned down, kissing his hair gently, her voice a quiet murmur. "Thank you, Shuichi-kun."
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