From what Yūto Shō had just confessed, Tachibana Hina pieced together that he probably had nothing physically wrong with him. The reason he'd gone numb around the girl he'd been quietly pining for was almost certainly tied to what had happened between the two of them that day.
That day, she had slipped, the towel had fallen away, and she'd been left lying there bare. Yūto Shō, lunging to catch her, had ended up pressing down against her exposed body instead.
It was the first time he'd ever seen a woman like that, and her figure was full in all the right places, her face the kind that stopped traffic. For a virgin like Yūto Shō, it was the equivalent of taking a critical hit in the first ten seconds of a boss fight — the sort of imprint that doesn't fade.
Bluntly put, Yūto Shō had probably been hooked by her mature, ripened body. That fixation had quietly outweighed his crush on the other girl, and he hadn't even noticed the swap happen inside him.
The more she turned the idea over, the more a hot prickle of guilt climbed up Tachibana Hina's neck. She felt she had to do something, or else Yūto Shō's whole future would end up wrecked because of one accident.
But she wasn't a hundred percent sure of her theory, so she decided to test it. Yūto Shō had failed to respond yesterday with the girl he liked. If he reacted now, with her, then her guess would be confirmed — and once confirmed, she could sit him down and explain things properly.
…
After telling Yūto Shō he was free to touch her, Tachibana Hina shut her eyes tight. In her whole life, she had only ever been close to him like this, and the last time had been a complete accident; this time was deliberate. Her nerves jangled — anxious, but with a thin, traitorous thread of excitement laced through them.
Yūto Shō seemed thrown by her offer, fumbling, "Hina-Nee, you're..."
Tachibana Hina didn't open her eyes, keeping her voice firm. "This is only to check whether you, Shō-Kun, are actually sick. Don't read into it. Treat it like that day — like a fanservice scene with your Noona, nothing more."
Honestly, beyond confirming whether he was sick, she also wanted to get used to being close to him. Otherwise she'd buckle the next time Natsuo Fuji came sniffing around with that knowing smirk of his.
Yūto Shō let a calculated beat pass, performing his embarrassment. "...Then Hina-Nee, sorry in advance."
…
With that, he laid his hand flat against her chest, a small, victorious smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Eyes shut, she missed the smirk entirely. All she felt was that broad palm working over her sensitive curve through the fabric of her shirt — a foreign sort of tingle radiating outward, sparking and skittering under her skin. Her body went pliant, her breath deepened, and a faint rose-petal flush spread across her fair face.
Still, she fought to keep her voice level. "Well? Any response?"
"Feels like… a little." Yūto Shō paused for effect, then quickly amped up the urgency. "Hina-Nee, can I use both hands? I think I'm almost there. With both, I'm sure it'll kick in."
That he'd ask for that left her mortified, but inside she softened — so Shō-Kun really does care about getting better. It was a man's dignity at stake, after all.
She hesitated a long moment, then gave a small nod.
Yūto Shō smiled and brought his second hand up to cup her remaining side. Both palms began working in tandem, kneading her like a kid mashing a stress plushie, marveling at how soft she felt even through cloth.
Watching the woman in front of him panting from his ministrations, watching her pale face bloom pink while she pressed her lips into a flat line pretending none of it landed, Yūto Shō felt his pulse spike. He kept the act going, voice cracking with manufactured panic-relief. "Hina-Nee, it's working, it's working — I'm not broken, oh thank God."
Carried by the act, he squeezed harder, hard enough that Tachibana Hina sucked in a sharp breath. Her tender flesh ached under the rough handling, uncomfortable at first, but as the sting ebbed a strange, syrupy warmth came surging up behind it.
Then his voice flipped again, lurching into fake despair. "Wait — why is it only a little? Why's it stopping?! What's wrong with me?!"
Battling the swirl of sensation across her chest, she rushed to soothe him. "Shō-Kun, don't panic, just give it a moment."
She still hadn't opened her eyes. She couldn't.
Yūto Shō gritted his teeth as if mustering some final boss-fight resolve. "It must be that it's not stimulating enough. Hina-Nee… can I put my hand under your shirt?"
A small startled sound escaped her. He must really be at the end of his rope — the polite kid she knew wouldn't have dared otherwise. They'd come this far; backing out now felt like quitting a raid one health bar from the win.
After a struggling pause, she nodded with reckless abandon. "Alright, Shō-Kun. Go ahead."
…
A heartbeat later she felt two large hands slide past her collar and close directly around her bare softness. Her whole body locked up.
The heat of his palms, paired with that bit of grip, dragged a sound out of her she hadn't given permission for — a small, coquettish moan, her breathing pitching deeper.
Skin to skin now, those hands roamed greedier, fingers occasionally rolling and pinching the stiffening tips —
A live wire jolt zipped down her spine, her knees nearly giving out from under her.
Just as she was about to beg him to be gentler, Yūto Shō crowed in delight, "Yes! I finally feel it! Hina-Nee, I'm reacting!"
She was relieved too, even as she fought to even out her breathing, managing a level, "No need to thank me. We're partners, after all."
"Right. Partners." Yūto Shō paused, doing his best sheepish-protagonist voice. "Hina-Nee, your chest is honestly so big and soft. Can I keep going? It still feels a little under-leveled."
Hearing him praise her in such crude terms, Tachibana Hina groaned inwardly, panting out, "Of course you can."
…
Watching her unravel under his hands, Yūto Shō felt something tightening dangerously low in his gut — like a powder keg one spark from going up. He'd been wound tight for days with no release, and he was officially out of patience bars.
She was a married woman, he reminded himself. She had to be familiar with this kind of thing. Otherwise she wouldn't have gone this far to help him through his supposed problem. And given her experience, even if things crossed a line tonight, she likely wouldn't blow up at him afterward — at least not the kind of blow-up that ruined a life.
That logic was all the green light he needed. Realizing she could barely stand anymore, he tightened his grip and started kneading her in earnest, fingers working her like he was studying for an exam.
Her body shook harder now. Her cheeks burned crimson, her eyes glistened with that telltale wet sheen, and her legs finally folded under her. She crumpled, and he crumpled with her, his weight pressing her down against the carpet.
The two of them groaned in unison.
…
Sprawled on top of her, breathing ragged against her ear, Yūto Shō whispered with shaky theatrical sincerity, "Hina-Nee, I feel awful — I can't take it, I can't hold back anymore."
Then he yanked her shirt up, buried his face between her breasts, and motorboated her like every harem-anime main character's wildest fever dream — full commitment, no shame.
Tachibana Hina's brow knit first, registering the wet warm friction of his face dragging across her chest. Then her face went scarlet, she pulled in one shaky breath, and her eyes finally cracked open — bright, drunk, sparkling with something she'd been pretending wasn't there.
In one impulsive motion she lifted her hand and clutched the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. Her narrow eyes hooded, her whole body shuddering in long, helpless waves.
Catching her surrender, Yūto Shō's gaze sharpened. Quietly, smoothly, he tugged his own zipper down, freed himself, then caught her right hand and guided it downward.
At the same time he closed his teeth gently around her left nipple, nibbling, mumbling out in mock-tortured tones, "Hina-Nee, it hurts so much down there — please, help me."
Tachibana Hina moaned, her thoughts swept under by the current. When her hand brushed against something hot and pulsing, instinct took over and her fingers wrapped around it, gripping tight.
Yūto Shō sucked in a hiss between his teeth.
She stilled for a second, her lashes fluttering, eyes glazing over with a soft, hazy gleam. Then, blushing furiously, she began to move her hand — slow at first, then steadier.
A few moments in, she felt him twitch hard against her palm, and a fresh rush of heat pulsed against her fingers as she kept stroking him through it.