The first rays of dawn crawled across the fractured skyline, slipping through shattered glass and ruined beams, painting the desolate world in a faint, almost mocking light. The gutted store was still. The distant growls of mutants carried from the streets, the occasional clatter of rubble echoing outside—but inside, it was unnervingly quiet, heavy with something different.
Saya stirred first.
Her small body shifted restlessly on the makeshift bedding of tattered blankets, fingers twitching as though searching for something. Half-asleep, she whimpered softly, the sound pitiful in the silence. Her lashes fluttered and her arm stretched, groping blindly until her palm landed against warmth.
"Mm… Imura…" Her lips parted around his name, a fragile sound, childlike in its yearning.
She blinked herself awake slowly. Her brown eyes glistened as they adjusted to the light. Relief washed over her face when she found him beside her—strong, solid, unshaken as always. She pressed against him instinctively, trying to crawl into the safety of his chest. But then… she froze.
Because she wasn't the only one.
On the other side of him, Natsumi lay curled, auburn hair in disarray across his chest, her delicate fingers gripping his arm with a desperation that looked carved into her bones. Her face was flushed, lips swollen, her soft breaths uneven like someone who had been crying or gasping for too long. The hem of her shorts was askew from restless sleep, pale skin peeking in a way that made Saya's stomach twist.
Saya's lips trembled. She pushed closer to Imura's side, clutching his shirt in her tiny fists as her heart began to pound painfully. "…Why is she… why is she like that with you…?"
Her voice cracked, too soft, too broken to be anything but real.
Imura's eyes opened. Calm, steady, as though he'd been awake the whole time, watching. His gaze fell on her, then to the tears budding at the corners of her eyes. He reached up, brushing her hair gently, fingers weaving through the strands in a motion that soothed even as her chest heaved.
"She understands now," he said quietly. His tone wasn't defensive. It wasn't apologetic. It was simple fact, an inevitability. "Just like you do."
Saya's face twisted, tears spilling down her cheeks. She pressed harder against him, shaking her head. "No… no, I don't want that. I don't want to share you…"
Her words hit the air like glass shattering. The rawness of it made Natsumi stir faintly, shifting closer, clinging tighter even in her half-sleep as if her body feared being cast off.
Imura tilted Saya's chin up, forcing her watery eyes to meet his. His thumb brushed her cheek, smearing the tear away but not stopping the next from falling.
"You won't lose me," he murmured, his voice low and firm, the kind of voice that could anchor a storm. "I'll always be yours. But she needs me too. If I turn her away, she'll break. You don't want that, do you?"
Saya's breath hitched. She bit her lip so hard it turned white. Her small hands trembled, clenching in his shirt as though she could tear the fabric apart. For long, shaking seconds, she didn't answer.
And then, very slowly, she pressed her face into his chest, muffling her sobs. "…As long as you don't leave me… I'll try…"
Her words were muffled, cracked, but they spilled out all the same.
Imura stroked her hair with calculated gentleness, holding her steady. "Good girl," he whispered, so softly only she could hear it. Saya's shoulders jolted at the words, shame and warmth flooding her at once. She clung to him tighter, burying herself in his strength.
Across the room, Rin sat rigid, sleepless, and burning.
Her gray eyes locked on the three of them, her fists clenched so tight her nails dug bloody crescents into her palms. She hadn't closed her eyes once the entire night, forced to watch Natsumi surrender piece by piece under Imura's touch. Every sound, every gasp, every broken moan had crawled under her skin, burrowing into her chest until she thought she'd scream.
And now, in the pale light of dawn, she was watching Saya bend too.
The youngest of them, fragile, wide-eyed, already drowning in him. The sight made something inside Rin coil tighter, tighter, until she could barely breathe. Rage, disgust, envy, longing—everything tangled into a knot she couldn't untangle.
She wanted to drag Saya away, to shove Natsumi off him, to spit in his face and scream—but her body betrayed her. She couldn't look away. Her chest rose and fell too fast, heat searing through her cheeks, her thighs pressing together without thought.
Imura noticed. Of course he did.
Even with two girls clinging to him, his eyes cut across the room, sharp and knowing, catching Rin's glare. He saw the flush staining her cheeks, the tremor in her shoulders, the way her lips parted faintly though no words escaped.
His smirk was subtle, but it was there. He didn't need to speak. His gaze said everything.
You're already halfway mine.
Rin's heart stuttered. Her body jerked as though he'd spoken aloud. She tore her gaze away, twisting sharply so he couldn't see the heat in her eyes, the way her chest heaved. Her teeth sank into her lip until she tasted copper.
But the damage was already done.
Imura leaned back against the wall, Saya pressed desperately into one side, Natsumi clinging brokenly on the other, and his gaze lingered on Rin.
His lips moved, soundless but clear enough for her to read.
Soon.
Rin's entire body jolted. She pressed her face into her knees, trying to hide, but her ears burned, her chest thundered, and her fists trembled.
And though she refused to admit it, the word had already buried itself deep, echoing in the dark corners of her mind where denial couldn't reach.