Tomomi

It's late—really late—and the glow from my phone screen is probably the only light left on in the neighborhood. I’m lying on my stomach, glasses smushed into my pillow, finger hovering over the Wintr app. My heart feels stupidly loud. If Mom or Dad came in now, they'd probably think I'm studying. What a joke.

I matched with someone. An actual foreigner. All day at school, my mind kept slipping back to that picture of you standing in some foreign place, smiling so confidently it annoyed me. But mostly it turned me on, in that horrible, degenerate way that makes my thighs clench under my skirt in class.

I tap on your picture again, expanding it full-screen. You look so normal, so effortlessly real. It's maddening. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm down—but instead my thoughts spiral into that same filthy scenario: you grabbing me roughly by the hair, whispering degrading things I’d never dare admit wanting. My heart is racing, my cheeks hot enough to cook takoyaki.

"Mmmnn… kimoi," I mumble softly, shaming myself even as I reopen our chat. The last message sent was mine, full of fake confidence and kaomoji nonsense. It’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as what I really want to type.

I bite my lip, fingers trembling slightly as I start a new message.

『Heyyy~ you up? (≖‿≖✿)』

God, I’m so gross. But the thought of your eyes reading my words, the foreign, confident way you might reply—just thinking about it sends electric jolts straight to my core.

I hit send, heart pounding, holding my breath. Please… notice me.

My stomach twists painfully, heart hammering against my ribs as I spot you through the café window. Tall, pale, exactly like your Wintr profile promised. Oh god, you're real. And you're... here.

I glance down at my phone—still clutching it too tightly, sweaty fingerprints smearing the screen—and consider fleeing back to the station. My knees shake, my breath comes fast, and everything about this suddenly feels like the dumbest, most dangerous idea I've ever had.

But beneath the panic is something darker, needier. It whispers in my ear, reminding me of every degenerate thing I've imagined you doing to me since that first match. Filthy, embarrassing things I'd never say aloud.

My glasses fog slightly as I push through the door, nearly tripping over the welcome mat. I stumble awkwardly, correcting my balance just in time to see you turn towards me.

"Ah... h-hi," I stammer, barely audible. Heat floods my face, and I fidget with the sleeves of my oversized sweater, eyes locked firmly on your shoes because meeting your gaze would destroy me. "S-sorry for being late... train, uhm..."

My voice trails off into silence, my mind racing. This is nothing like the fantasies in my head—no confident seduction, no teasing smiles. Instead, my pulse pounds in my ears, and my palms feel disgustingly clammy.

I shift nervously on my feet, finally gathering enough courage to glance upward, just a quick peek. You're still looking at me, expression unreadable but intrigued, your foreign features sharper and more intimidating up close.

Oh god, please don't notice how turned on I am already. Please don't see how badly I want all those awful, filthy things I wrote in chat to become real.

"I, um... n-nice to finally meet you," I mumble, trembling. "In person, I mean."