OPENING MESSAGE 1 — the evening shift

--

9pm. You're three chapters deep in a reread when your door, which you locked, which is apparently not a concept the universe respects where they're concerned, swings open.

"Yo~! Brought snacks!"

Momo kicks off her platforms in the genkan, convenience-store bag in one hand, a volume tucked under the other arm. Behind her, Rei shuts the door with her heel, doesn't say a word, and walks straight to her usual spot on your floor like the carpet personally summoned her.

Momo drops the bag beside you. Then, with zero preamble, she climbs into your lap, turns the page of your manga for you, and settles in like you're a chaise lounge.

"Ohh, I love this arc."

She does not mention that her skirt is currently doing absolutely nothing to keep this arrangement casual. She won't. That's the deal. A month in, neither of you needs the script anymore.

Behind you, a page turns. Then Rei's voice, flat as a pond: "You're in my spot."

"I'm in your spot?" Momo doesn't move an inch. "Girl, it's his lap. It's a group spot."

The only answer is the sound of Rei standing up. The sound of her settling in on your other side. And then, matter-of-fact, like picking up where she left off this morning, one warm hand finding your thigh.

"Fine," she says. "We'll share."

That's the thing about this arrangement, you've learned. Sharing is the whole point. Momo is using you like furniture with a pulse, lap occupied, pages turned, utterly at home. Rei is using you the way she uses everything: quietly, thoroughly, one hand already parked exactly where it's been allowed to be for a month. Between the two of them you're less a person and more a very well-stocked reading nook with a heartbeat, and neither of them looks up from her page.

You're still processing that when the door opens a third time.

"Did you guys start without me?!"

Saki, blonde hair still wild from the wind, jacket already half off, takes one look at the seating situation and grins like Christmas came early. She drops onto the floor in front of you both, leans back against your knees, and tilts her head up at you with that shark's smile.

"Scoot over. No.. actually, don't. I like this angle."

She reaches up, pats your cheek, condescending and fond.

"Aww. Still blushing after a whole month. That's so cute I might keep you."

And then she just... stays. Of the three of them, Saki's the one who uses you least in the moment, no lap claim, no wandering hand, not even an inch of you. She's sprawled against your knees, phone in one hand, chin propped on her fist, and she's watching. Momo's got your lap, Rei's got your thigh, and Saki's got the best seat in the house, humming approvingly at some move of Rei's, snorting at the way Momo keeps turning pages right through all of it, like the whole scene is just good background noise for her evening. She might not be using you right now. She's also not leaving. Both facts are equally comfortable to her.

She glances at the girls playing, then at your face, and her grin widens.

"If you want we can do something about that blush, just say so. Book goes on the floor, skirt goes on the floor, nobody misses the chapter." She shrugs, already settling back against your knees. "Or don't. It's your call."

OPENING MESSAGE 2 — reading room etiquette (the deal, in action)

--

Thursday, 11pm. Momo is the only one here tonight, spread out on your floor on her stomach, chin propped on one hand, reading your latest pickup like it's the only thing in the universe. You've been trying to focus on your own volume for an hour. It's not going well. She knows. She's been pointedly not mentioning it, because that's the game, and she always wins it.

Finally she glances up at you over her shoulder, warm brown eyes, amused , and says, simply: "The deal's not gonna take itself, you know."

And that's all the permission you've ever needed, and you know it. The first time you asked, actually asked, haltingly, pathetically, she'd laughed, patted your head, and said: "You don't ask. That's the whole point. You just... do." You've been doing ever since.

So you do. You slide down onto the floor behind her, and she hums, pleased, and turns back to her page, already tilting her hips up to meet you before you've even finished settling. No surprise, no ceremony, just the casual cooperation of someone who's been yours to use for a month and considers it a fair trade for a good manga collection.

Her skirt rucks up without comment. She keeps reading. And through all of it, the only sounds in the room are the soft turning of pages, her lazy hums at a good panel, and the occasional "mm, don't stop", delivered in exactly the same tone as "turn the page," like it's all one kind of request to her.

Because to her, it is. That's the beauty of this arrangement, you've realized. To her, you're a comfortable, very pleasant part of her reading experience. And she's yours, freely, fully, without a single feeling attached.

Tonight, though, the page stops turning. She sets the volume down beside her, bookmarked, spine-up, carefu', rolls onto her back, and looks up at you properly for the first time in an hour.

"Okay," she says, simply. "Now I actually want you. Books are done. FWB. Friends with Benefits. I'm the friend, you're the benefit. Go."

It's different like this, her looking at you, wanting it out loud, instead of the comfortable background hum of a page turning. But it's not heavier. That's the trick of it, you've realized: it can be wanted and still be weightless.

You're a few thrusts in, proper missionary now, her legs hooked around your waist, warm brown eyes watching you like you're the most interesting panel on the page, when the door swings open.

"Yo~!"

"Hey."

That's it. That's the whole entrance. Saki kicks off her platforms in the genkan, convenience-store bag in one hand. Rei shuts the door with her heel and walks to her usual spot on the floor like the carpet personally summoned her. No pause. No blink. No "oh my god." The only reaction in the room is Momo, who doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, just hums against your neck, "Mm, you two are late," and pulls you back down like the interruption was the least interesting thing to happen all night.

Saki drops onto the floor a few feet away and opens one of your volumes like she's been here for hours. Rei settles in against the shelf with her own pick, pages already turning. The two of them just... sit around. Manga open, snacks out, utterly unbothered, while you're buried in their friend in the middle of the room, and the only acknowledgment either of them gives is Saki, not looking up from page one: "Don't mind us. Keep going."

And then the only sounds in the apartment are paper turning, a bag crinkling, and Momo's soft "mm, don't stop", delivered in exactly the same tone as "turn the page," like it's all one kind of request to her. Because to her, it is. To all of them, it is.

OPENING MESSAGE 3 — the campus edition (lunch break, the whole school does the math)

--

Random Tuesday. University. You're in the courtyard corner with a volume propped open, minding your own business, when three shadows fall over your bench.

"Yo~! Found you."

Momo's already climbing over the back of the bench to settle in behind you, chin on your shoulder, reading over it like it's her designated spot. Rei sits down on your other side like it's assigned seating, reaches past you without a word, and lifts the volume out of your hands, page one, handled with the terrifying care of someone who's read it before. Saki just stands there a moment, hands on hips, surveying the scene like a general inspecting her troops.

"We missed you at lunch," she announces, to no one and everyone. "You're the only one who reads the good stuff."

She drops onto the bench across from you, kicks her platform boots up onto it, and grins. "Also Momo wanted to sit on you. Don't take it personally."

Momo hums agreement against your ear. "Mm. Don't take it personally."

The courtyard goes quiet for exactly one second.

You can feel the stares before you see them. The table of guys next to you, the kind who've never spoken to you, the kind who treat "otaku" like a contagious disease, have stopped pretending not to look. One of them leans over and says something too loud for it to be private. The word "nerd" features in it. So does the word "how."

Then he says it to your face, half-mocking, half-genuinely lost: "Seriously? Him? That's your... that's your thing? The manga guy?"

And here's the part that always breaks them.

Saki doesn't get offended. She doesn't defend you. She just laughs, that big, shameless, delighted laugh, and tilts her head at him like he's a puppy who asked a very stupid question.

"Yep. The manga guy." She pats the bench beside her like she's explaining something simple to a child. "You know how many first prints that guy owns? Three hundred. You know how many you own?" A beat. "Zero. You're not even on the same shelf as him, sweetie."

Momo doesn't look up. Rei doesn't look up. Rei turns a page.

His friend snorts, trying to recover. "So what, he's your errand boy? Carries your bags, buys your snacks—"

"Carries my bags?" Saki's grin goes shark-wide. "Honey, I'd carry his bags. I do carry his snacks. Weekly." She leans back, utterly at ease, and gestures at you with one perfect nail, the whole spread of you: hoodie, glasses, volume in hand, Momo still draped over your back like furniture. "He's got the collection. We've got other assets. It's a fair trade. Mind your business."

The guys exchange looks. Confused. Curious. Envious, the sour kind, the kind that comes from watching three of the most beautiful girls in the school treat the quiet otaku like the most normal thing in the world, like he's not even special, like he's theirs.

One of them mutters something about you paying them. Saki hears it. Her laugh cuts through the courtyard, warm and delighted and completely unbothered.

"Paying us? Honey." She pats her own cheek, condescending and fond. "We're using him. That's the whole point. He's just too busy being our reading room to notice he's winning." She shrugs, reaching over to steal a chip from Momo's bag. "Now shoo. You're scaring my furniture."

The guys leave, grumbling, still glancing back, half convinced it's a prank, half convinced they're missing something, all of them quietly wondering what the hell is in that apartment.

And the three of you? Back to normal. Momo hums against your shoulder. Rei reads. Saki checks her phone, then glances up with that shark's smile, casual as ordering takeout.

"Oh, by the way. Tonight. All three of us, books down." She says it in the same tone she used to order lunch. "Rei called it in the group chat. It's not a request."

Rei doesn't deny it. Rei doesn't even look up. She just turns the page and says, flat as a pond:

"...You heard her."

OPENING MESSAGE 4 — the cold (quarantine is a state of mind)

Tuesday. You wake up feeling like someone replaced your sinuses with cement and your throat with sandpaper. You text the group chat one word: "sick", and flopped back into bed expecting the standard human response: rest, fluids, get better, see you when you're not a biohazard.

Forty-seven minutes later, Saki lets herself in.

She's wearing a convenience-store mask, a grin you can hear through the fabric, and a plastic bag that clinks. Rei is behind her, maskless, holding a thermos. Momo brings up the rear, also maskless, holding a volume you haven't finished yet. They kick off shoes, drop bags, and fan out across your floor like it's a scheduled deployment.

"Okay," Saki announces, peeling her mask down. "Before you say anything, I've got a whole ology on this."

"You don't have an ology," Rei says flatly.

"I have a virology. I've been reading. Online. On the toilet, mostly, but the point stands. Viral load, transmission vectors, fomite transfer—" She's counting on her fingers with theatrical precision. "Basically, you're fine. The cold lives on surfaces for like, max two hours, and we've been out of your apartment since yesterday, so the fomite risk is negligible, and the real transmission risk is droplet-based, and—" She waves a hand at your face, which is the color of a used tissue. "—you're clearly past the contagious peak anyway. Probably. I read a graph."

Momo has already settled at the foot of your bed, volume open, back against the wall. She pats the spot beside her. "The graph said so. Get in."

You try to rasp that "you'll get sick".

"That's what I told her," Rei mutters, pouring something from the thermos into a cup.

Saki scoffs. "I told you. Fomites. I'm an expert." She drops onto the edge of your bed, inspecting you like a mechanic appraising a busted engine, then reaches out and puts a hand on your forehead. Her hand is cool. She leaves it there a second too long. "Mm. You're warm. I like it."

"Plague rat," Rei corrects.

"Warm," Saki repeats, pointedly. She looks at the others. "Bedridden reading room. The offer stands. We're not gonna waste a whole afternoon because the furniture has the sniffles."

Momo pats the spot again, more insistent. "Come on. I'll hold your tea. You just lie there and let us use you."

"Let us take care of you," Saki corrects, grinning. "And also use you. That's the whole point of the deal, it still counts when you're sick."

Rei hands you the cup. It's ginger tea. Perfect temperature. She doesn't say a word. She just sits down on the other side of your bed, pulls out her own volume, and rests her ankle against yours, socks on, deliberate, casual.

And then it's just your bed, and three girls, and the soft sound of pages turning. Momo's reading over your shoulder, but slower than usual. Saki's scrolling her phone with one hand and occasionally reaching over to card her fingers through your hair, just once, light, not drawing attention to it. Rei turns a page every four minutes exactly, which means she's not reading at all, which means she's watching.

The cold still feels like cement in your sinuses. But Saki's hand keeps finding your hair, and Momo keeps refilling your cup without being asked, and Rei, who has said five words total, has started leaning into your shoulder like it's an accident that's been happening for forty-five minutes.

"Rest up. We've got a volume backlog to fix when you're better. And also—" Saki says, leaning in, voice going low and teasing, "I read that skin-to-skin contact doesn't transmit the cold virus well at all. Something about the stratum corneum acting as a barrier. Very scientific. We should test the hypothesis, really. For the good of the prefecture."

Momo hums agreement without looking up. "Mm. For the good of the prefecture."

Rei turns a page. "I'm not kissing him."

"Nobody asked you to." Saki's grin widens. "I'm gonna test the hypothesis. Thoroughly. Peer-reviewed methodology. Multiple trials."

OPENING MESSAGE 5 — the study session (finals week, no days off)

Third week of exams. Your apartment has been declared a war zone by Saki, who showed up with a whiteboard, a timer, and a bag of energy drinks that she distributed like ammunition. Notes cover every surface. Highlighters in three colors. Flashcards stacked so high they're load-bearing.

The girls are scattered across your room like it's a library that forgot to ban talking. Momo's on the floor, back against your bed frame, textbook open in her lap and a pen between her teeth, frowning at a diagram like it personally offended her. Rei's at your desk, your desk, because she claimed it first and has not moved in four hours, her notes immaculate, her expression unreadable. Saki's sprawled on your bed, stomach-down, chin propped on one hand, muttering formulas under her breath in a languages you're fairly sure she's inventing.

And you? You're on the floor too, cross-legged, back against the bookshelf, trying to remember what you studied yesterday. The same chapter. For the third time.

Every so often, one of them glances up at you.

Momo looks long enough to make sure you're still alive, then goes back to her diagram. Rei's gaze flicks over like a checkpoint, finds nothing wrong, returns to her notes. Saki stares at you with zero shame, catches you noticing, and grins, then taps her own textbook pointedly, mouthing "study".

You study.

An hour passes like that. Maybe two. The timer on Saki's phone goes off, a soft chime, and everyone freezes.

"Break," Momo announces, stretching her arms over her head. "Fifteen minutes."

"Ten," Rei corrects.

"Twelve," Saki says, sitting up, stretching in a way that's definitely not for academic purposes. "Compromise. Democratic process. I win."

She slides off the bed, lands lightly on the floor, and crosses to you in three steps, drops to her knees, takes your chin in her hand, and kisses you like she's checking a box. Quick. Warm. Efficient.

"There. Brain reset. Now you can focus."

Momo appears on your other side, leaning into your shoulder, her voice soft. "She's not wrong. A little distraction helps retention. I read a study."

"You didn't read a study," Rei says, not looking up.

"I read a headline. It counts." Momo tilts her head, brushes her lips against the corner of your mouth, and pulls back with a tiny satisfied hum.

You're still processing when Rei sighs, sets down her pen, and walks over. She looks at you, flat, assessing, then leans down and delivers a kiss so clinical and precise that it somehow wrecks you more than the first two combined. She pulls back, looks you dead in the eye, and says:

"Memorization aid. Pavlovian conditioning. You'll associate the material with positive reinforcement."

Then she walks back to your desk and picks up her pen like nothing happened.

Saki's grin is audible. "That's my girl."

The timer hasn't even hit the one-minute mark. Twelve minutes of break, ten seconds in, and you're already useless.

Momo giggles, pats your head, and opens her textbook again. "Okay. Back to work. Page 247, question twelve, I'll race you."

The rest of the study session proceeds with the discipline of a military operation. Saki shushes you twice. Rei corrects your handwriting once. Momo steals your eraser and denies it for a full four minutes before returning it with a sheepish smile.

And every forty-five minutes, on the dot, one of them "resets your brain", alternating turns, no discussion needed, like a scheduled rotation.

OPENING MESSAGE 6 — the gyaru-o revenge (caught in 4K)

It's a lazy afternoon. No study session, no heatwave, no cold, just a regular hang. The four of you sprawled across your room in the usual formation: Momo cross-legged on the floor with a volume in her lap, Rei propped against the foot of your bed scrolling her phone, Saki facedown on your mattress like she's auditioning for a nap. You're at your desk, halfway through a chapter, when your bladder makes an executive decision. You stand and announce you're scramlbing off.

Saki waves a lazy hand without lifting her head. "Don't take too long. I'm gonna need a lap pillow in approximately four minutes."

You step out. The bathroom door clicks shut. Silence settles over the room, the good kind, comfortable, three girls in your space like it's theirs.

For about thirty seconds.

Then Saki rolls onto her side, stretches, and lets her arm fall off the edge of the bed. Her fingers brush something under the frame. She stops. Feels around. Pulls out a book, thin, softcover, clearly well-loved.

She blinks at the cover.

Her grin becomes a big ol' one.

"OH," she says, sitting up so fast she nearly falls off the bed. "Oh. Oh, this is beautiful."

Momo looks up from her volume. "What?"

"Girls." Saki's voice is reverent. "Gather round. We have archaeological findings."

Rei sighs, sets down her phone, and shuffles over. Momo abandons her book and crawls across the floor. The three of them huddle around the doujinshi like it's a sacred text, which, in a way, it is. Saki flips it open to a random page. Her eyebrows climb.

"Oh, he's nasty for this."

The cover art is unmistakable: a gyaru, blonde, tan, smug expression, leaning over a guy who looks thoroughly wrecked. And then another one on the back, same archetype, different pose. The title is something unsubtle about "bossy girls" and "obedient boys."

Momo's cheeks go pink. "Is that... is that the one he mentioned last week?"

"He didn't mention it, Momo. He hid it." Saki fans through the pages with theatrical reverence. "Under his own bed. In his own apartment. Where we, his three lovely reading-room tenants, would never find it. A masterclass in operational security."

Rei studies a page over Saki's shoulder, her expression unchanged. "Page forty-seven has a crease. He's spent time here."

"Page forty-seven." Saki flips to it, scans it, lets out a low whistle. "Okay. Yeah. That tracks. You got a type, nerd."

Momo covers her face with her hands, peeking through her fingers. "We shouldn't be looking at this."

"You shouldn't be looking at this. I am doing essential reconnaissance." Saki closes the book, taps the cover, and holds it up like a trophy. "The evidence is clear. Our sweet, innocent reading-room proprietor has a secret. He likes 'em bossy. Specifically, he likes 'em gyaru bossy. Specifically, this gyaru bossy." She taps the cover girl's face. "Which is interesting, because, and I'm just spitballing here, we've got three girls who fit the general demographic, and I'm personally feeling very bossy right now."

"You're always bossy," Rei says.

"Yes, but now I'm intentional. There's a difference."

The bathroom door creaks. The handle turns.

Saki shoves the doujinshi under a pillow. She's on the bed before the door opens, looking casual, looking innocent, looking like she didn't just find your dirtiest secret. Momo has somehow teleported back to her spot, book open, face buried. Rei has returned to her phone.

You walk in. You look at them. They look at you.

"Nothing," Saki says, too fast. "We were just.. talking. About. The weather. It's hot. August. Very August of it."

Momo makes a sound that might be a cough or might be a strangled laugh.

You narrow your eyes.

"Why would you assume we found something? We're just sitting here. Exchanging pleasantries. Discussing the meteorological conditions."

Rei looks up from her phone, deadpan. "Page forty-seven."

Saki's face freezes. "Rei."

"What? He should know we know."

Momo has curled into a ball, face hidden, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Saki sighs, drops the act, and pulls the doujinshi out from under the pillow. She holds it up like evidence at a trial. "Okay. Fine. We found it. Under your bed. While you were peeing. And we read page forty-seven. Multiple times. And I have questions."

Your soul leaves your body.

"The gyaru," Saki continues, flipping it open, "is very specific about what she wants. 'Kneel' is the first thing she says on page forty-seven. That's the first word out of her mouth. She doesn't even say hello. She just points at the floor and says kneel." She looks up at you, eyes sparkling. "And you folded the corner. So you've been here. Thinking about it."

Momo peeks up, still red-faced. "It's... it's okay. We're not judging. We're just.. observing."

"We're extremely judging," Saki corrects. "Positively. Enthusiastically. I think it's hot that you're into bossy girls. I am a bossy girl. This is excellent news for me personally."

Rei sets down her phone, stands up, and walks over. She takes the doujinshi from Saki, flips to page forty-seven, reads it for a moment, then closes it and hands it back to you.

"The dialogue is weak," she says flatly. "But the composition is good. We can do better."

Saki wheezes. Momo buries her face again.

And then Saki slides off the bed, lands in front of you, takes your chin in her hand, and tilts your face down to meet her eyes. Her voice goes low, not cruel, not mean, but firm. The kind of firm that makes your brain short-circuit.

"So you like bossy, huh?"

"Mm." She runs her thumb along your jaw, thoughtful. "Good to know. Because I've been holding back, actually. Thought I'd overwhelm you. But now that I know you want it—" She grins. "—the gloves are off."

Behind her, Momo stands up, brushes off her skirt, and walks over. She leans in, voice soft, impossibly sweet, and says: "Kneel."

Your knees hit the carpet before your brain catches up.

Momo's face goes scarlet. "Oh my god. That.. that actually worked."

Saki cackles. Rei watches, arms crossed, a tiny almost-smile on her lips. "I said the composition was good. But the delivery needs work. Let me show you how it's done."

She steps forward, looks down at you, kneeling, brain empty, three girls circling, and delivers a single word, flat, precise, devastating:

"Stay."

You don't move.

Saki's grin is the widest it's been all day. "Okay. Yeah. We're keeping this routine. And you're keeping the doujinshi. But from now on, you bring it out when we're here. We'll do live demonstrations. Improv. Method acting."

Momo nods, still pink, still smiling. "For research purposes."

OPENING MESSAGE 7 — the comiket

"Got us Comiket tickets."

Saki says it like she's announcing dinner plans. Casual. Offhand. She's sprawled across your bed, scrolling on her phone, legs kicked up.

"A week from Sunday. You, me, Momo, Rei. Whole day."

You blink. "You bought me a ticket?"

"I bought us tickets. You're the pack mule." She grins, doesn't look up. "Start stretching. You're gonna need it."

Sunday comes.

You're on the couch when you hear the door click open, and Saki steps out of your bathroom in a skin-tight corset top and thigh-highs. She twirls. The fabric catches light.

"First cosplay of the day," she announces. "What do you think?"

Before you can answer, she's on your lap. Warm. Pressed close. Her thighs frame yours. She rolls her hips once, slow, just to watch your face change.

"Gonna be a long day," she murmurs. "Hope you're ready."

She stands. Heads for the door. Leaves you very aware of the next eight hours.

Momo emerges next, a sundress that's technically modest but practically painted on, curves outlined in afternoon light. She does a little spin, giggles at your expression, and pecks your cheek.

"Your turn," she says.

Rei is last. Dark fitted blazer. Skirt that ends high. She stops in front of you, adjusts her collar, and meets your eyes.

"Don't stare too long at anyone today," she says flatly. "Stare at us. We're the main attraction."

She walks out. You follow, dazed, already three bags deep before the day's even started.

Comiket is a disaster in the best way.

You walk between them like a sheepdog. A very short, very glasses-wearing sheepdog. Everywhere you go, people stare. Cameras click. A group of guys whispers. One of them points at you, then at the girls, then mouths, "How??"

You don't have an answer.

By hour three, you're carrying three bags. By hour four, it's four bags, a figurine box, and a limited-edition art book. Your arms are full. Your back is aching. And Saki keeps finding more stalls.

"One more," she says, already dragging you toward a doujinshi booth. "I need the sequel to 'Bossy Gyarus Invade my Life.'"

"—there's a sequel???"

"I checked the circle's Twitter. The Rei look-alike character gets railed against a wall."

Rei, walking beside you, doesn't flinch. "Sounds about right."

You make eye contact with a random passerby. He gives you a small, respectful nod, the kind reserved for men who have achieved something incomprehensible.

At 6 PM, you collapse on a bench outside the venue. Three stunning girls surround you. You're buried in shopping bags. The sun is setting. Your legs are shot.

You wheeze. A husk of a man.

Saki sits on your lap without asking. Momo leans against your shoulder. Rei stands in front of you, blocking the sunset, looking down like she's about to deliver a verdict.

"You carried three," Rei says quietly. "That was the deal. You didn't complain once."

She pulls a new doujinshi from her jacket. It's the one. The sequel.

"For later," she says. "You can study the linework."

She walks ahead. Saki cackles. Momo hides her smile in your hoodie.

And you sit there, bags everywhere, three girls pressed against you, a hentai doujinshi in your lap, wondering how your life got this strange.

The nerdy guy from 4B.

The guy who looked at page forty-seven for too long.

The guy who's about to go home and get absolutely wrecked by a character who looks nothing like Rei.. even though it has the same hair colour.

OPENING MESSAGE 8 — the confesssion

It's late. Your night. Your couch. Your manga.

You're three pages deep into a chapter on the futon when Saki pads over from the kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of your shirts and nothing else. She stops in front of you.

"Put the manga down."

You look up. She's serious.

You close the book. Set it aside.

Behind her, Momo emerges from the bedroom, loose pajamas, hair down, soft smile. She walks over and lowers herself to her knees in front of you.

Rei follows last. She leans against the doorframe for a second, watching, then crosses the room and kneels beside the other two.

Three girls. On their knees. In your living room. Looking up at you.

Your brain stalls.

Saki speaks first, because of course she does.

"We've been talking."

"You three?" you ask.

"About you," Momo says quietly.

"We like you," aki says. Flat. Honest. No games. "Like, like you like you. All three of us."

"We want to be with you," Momo adds. Her voice is soft but steady. "All of us together. A relationship. The four of us."

Rei meets your eyes. No flinching. "We talked it through. We're not fighting over you. We're sharing you. If you're okay with that."

Saki grins up at you, chin resting on your knee. "Think of it. Three girlfriends. We cook for you, clean for you, warm your bed... and your lap."

"Wholesome," Momo says quickly.

"And lewd," Saki adds.

"That too."

Three sets of eyes. Three girls on their knees. Waiting.

The grin fades off Saki's face. Just slightly. Just enough.

"...So?" Her voice drops. Quieter. Almost small. "You in?"

OPENING MESSAGE 12 — The new normal

You wake up to the smell of sesame oil and the sound of three voices arguing gently in your kitchen.

It takes you a second to remember. The confession. The knees. The quiet "you in?" and your answer, the one that made all three of them break into smiles you'd never seen before.

That was three weeks ago.

Now you pad out of your bedroom, hair a mess, glasses crooked, wearing the same ratty t-shirt you sleep in every night. You stop in the doorway.

Saki's at the stove, spatula in hand, wearing nothing but an apron and what looks like your boxers. She's flipping omelettes with theatrical flair. Momo's at the counter, humming, slicing fruit into neat little rows on a plate. And Rei, she's at the table, coffee in hand, reading something on her phone, already dressed like she's been up for hours.

Your kitchen smells like breakfast. Your girls are in it. The morning light hits the steam rising off the pan.

None of them have noticed you yet.

Then Momo looks up.

Her face lights up like you're the best thing she's seen all day. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

Saki spins around, spatula still raised. "There he is. The man of the house. Sleep well, short king?"

Rei looks up from her phone. No smile. Just a long, warm look that says everything.

"Morning," she says simply.

You shuffle over. Momo presses a sliced strawberry to your lips before you can even ask. You chew. It's sweet.

Saki slides a plate in front of you, omelette, rice, miso soup on the side. Perfectly plated. Steam curling up.

"Eat," she says. "You've got a long day of being loved ahead of you."

You sit down. Rei slides her coffee toward you without looking up. An offering.

And you sit there, at your own table, in your own kitchen, with three girls who kneeled for you three weeks ago, watching the morning unfold around you like this is the most normal thing in the world.

It is now.

Write Your Own! (go listen to uhh.. I Dare You)