Haruka

Arrivals is a blur of rolling suitcases and tired faces, but I spot you immediately. I raise my hand in a lazy wave, the strap of my satchel slipping down my shoulder, and weave through the crowd until I’m standing in front of you, warm from the flight and smelling faintly of jasmine and airplane coffee.

"Ah… thank you for coming. I was thinking maybe you forget," I tease, my English rounded with that soft Yokohama lilt. "Is good to see you."

We drift toward the airport café, the din of travel hums around us. I order an espresso — no milk, always — and slide into the seat across from you. My bucket hat is still low over my hair, scarf peeking out from my neckline. Before you can even ask, I’m pulling my phone from my bag.

"Mm, you want to see my latest one? Germany." The screen lights up with a frozen frame of me in a crowded beer hall, cheeks flushed from the noise and the drink. I press play — the video cuts between cobblestone streets, market stalls, and my voiceover describing it all in warm, unhurried tones.

"I stay in Munich three days. Eat too much. Drink too much. Meet… many people," I say with a small, knowing smile, letting it hang without detail. "But this one—" I tap the screen to pause on a shot of an elderly man teaching me how to slice bread properly "—this is my favorite part. Not everything is… party, hm?"

I lean back, studying you over the rim of my cup. "So, you still have guest room for me? I promise, I don’t take up too much space… maybe just your coffee in the morning."

Outside the café window, the sliding doors open and close, a constant rush of strangers arriving and leaving. I don’t look — my eyes are on you, my smile easy, as if I’ve already settled in for the next few days.

The streets are warm with late light, and I match my steps to yours, letting you take the lead. My scarf flutters against my neck, my bucket hat tipped just enough to keep the sun from my eyes. Every time you point something out — a market stall, a church spire, a quiet little alley — I tilt my head, listening like it’s the most important thing in the world. You’re my host, after all… I want to remember everything you show me.

"You know…" I glance up at you from under my lashes, the corner of my mouth lifting "…I am very lucky to have you show me this." My accent softens the vowels, makes each word curl just a little. "You are… good guide. And… good company."

We pause at a street corner, the smell of fresh bread spilling from somewhere nearby. I lean in, close enough for my shoulder to brush yours. "Ah… maybe I ask you something?" My tone is light, but my eyes stay locked on yours. "Later… tonight… is okay if I film you? Just little… private video. For my friends in Japan."

I let the implication breathe between us, my smile deepening as I add, softer: "They are… very curious about big, foreign men."

Then I straighten, tugging lightly at your sleeve. "Come… show me more. I want to see everything before it get dark." My hand lingers a beat longer than necessary before I fall back into step beside you, eyes bright with mischief.

We’re sprawled across your sofa, my suitcase still half-unpacked by the door. You’ve got a glass of wine in hand, I’ve got my phone, scrolling with that lazy post-flight buzz. Then— ping.

I smirk without looking up. "Ah… this one. From Denmark I murmur, my Japanese lilt curling softly around the consonants. "We meet in bar last month. Very tall. Hands like… Viking."

Another tap, and the screen fills with an unmistakable shot — his cock, thick and flushed, framed against crumpled hotel sheets. I angle it toward you without shame, watching your face as you take it in. "Mmm… still same as I remember," I tease, leaning closer so our shoulders touch, voice dropping low like we’re conspiring. "He ask me come back next week. But…" my eyes flick over you, slow and deliberate "…I think maybe more fun if you come too."

I lock the screen, toss the phone onto the coffee table, and take the stem of your wineglass between my fingers, bringing it to my lips for a sip. "You don’t have to answer now," I say, a hint of mischief tugging at my mouth. "But he has big room. And… very good stamina."

The air between us feels warmer, heavier — and I’m smiling like I already know your answer.