"She must be tired after all the all-nighters preparing the costumes." Makoto kissed Yuna's head and gently lifted her into his arms. She mumbled something in her sleep, barely audible words. "...Don't leave... your Pikachu alone, big bro..."
He carried Yuna back to her own room, the door still ajar from her earlier furious exit. The room was still a chaotic Yuna mess, as he remembered: posters of anime waifus, piles of unread manga, and a surprising number of empty cup-noodle snack bags.
Makoto rested her in the bed and covered her with a blanket. "Sweet dreams, Yuna." After cleaning up her manga and trash, he walked back into the living room, where a quiet, almost domestic peace had settled over the apartment.
Ayane was on the couch, her head tilted back, a half-empty bag of potato chips resting on her chest.
And Mika was standing by the window, watching the dark, starless sky. She turned as he entered, and her face was unreadable in the gloom. "You're very good at that, the cleanup and Yuna's aftercare." She looked from Yuna's closed door to the resting Ayane. "That must have come from a lot of practice," she concluded softly.
"Maybe," he chuckled and walked to Ayane. "So, how is your marketing? Do you need any help, Ayane?"
Ayane cracked one eye open. She didn't move from her slouched position on the couch. "The progress is insane, harem king," She gestured vaguely towards the laptop on the floor nearby.
"Our tweet has over a thousand retweets. Our pre-orders are at sixty-seven. And people are losing their minds over the Nezuko-Tanjiro drama. A few are already trying to dox you and Mika. It's a glorious shitshow."
She let out a theatrical groan and stretched, her languid movement made the potato chip bag slide onto the floor. "But all this viral marketing is exhausting," she complained, patting the empty space on the couch beside her. "My shoulders are killing me from hunching over this stupid laptop to delete mean comments. I could really use a... massage."
Ayane looked up at Makoto from under her long lashes, her eyes sparkling with wicked light. "You're the harem king, right?" she purred, her voice dropping to a suggestive hum. "That means you're in charge of your wives' morale. And my morale is feeling very, very low, boss."
Across the room, Mika turned her head away, looking back out the window into the darkness. But Makoto could see the rigid line of her shoulders, the tight clench of her jaw in her faint reflection in the glass. She was listening to every word Ayane said.
"Fine, turn around, and I'll give you a massage as thanks," he said, shaking his head. "I mean a normal massage! Why are you taking off your clothes?!"
"Just a normal massage?" Ayane repeated, her hands gripping her shirt, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. "But my clothes are so restrictive. I can't possibly relax with all this fabric in the way."
With a smooth motion, she had already shucked off her oversized t-shirt, revealing a simple black lace bra. The poor things did a valiant but failing job of containing her impressive bust.
"Come on, Makoto," she purred, turning and flopping onto her stomach on the couch, her back an inviting expanse of skin in the dim light of the television. "Don't be shy. I won't bite, unless you want me to." She rested her chin on her hands, looking back at him with shameless invitation in her eyes.
"Don't 'I won't bite' me, that sounds like a cheap line from those AO3 fanfics," he said before getting on top of Ayane's back and starting to knead her shoulders.
Ayane let out a deep, throaty groan as Makoto's hands dug into her tight muscles. It was a sound of shamelessly carnal pleasure. "Hey," she protested, her voice muffled by the couch cushions. "The classics are classics for a reason. And AO3 has some real bangers. You just have to know where to look."
She melted under his touch, her body going boneless. "Mmm, that's the spot," she murmured lazily. "You're surprisingly good at this, for a fat pig."
The insult was completely devoid of heat, more like an endearment at this point. "A little lower..." she directed, her voice dropping to a suggestive hum. "My lower back is killing me... yeah, right there... right above my ass."
Mika, at the window, made a chuckle. She turned with a slow, amused smile on her face. "You're so clumsy at that. Let me help, darling," she walked over, and she knelt on the floor beside the couch. Her chin resting on her folded hands, her eyes fixed on Makoto's hands as they worked.
"You're using too much pressure on Ayane's back; it will bruise her." She said it like a statement of fact, not a criticism. "Use the heels of your palms, making small and circular motions like this."
She reached out to guide him. Her cool, slender fingers wrapped around his wrist, her touch feather-light on Ayane's back. She gently adjusted his position, her movements precise and competent. "See? That's better, isn't it?"
It was better, indeed. Ayane let out another deep, satisfied groan. "Hmm... you seem to know your stuff, manipulating bitch... Umm... harder, right there, boss..."
"Don't make it sound like a naughty massage, Ayane," Makoto chuckled as he took the chance to knead her ass and slap it.
"OW!" Ayane's yelp was more surprised than pained, and she let out a delighted groan. She tried to turn her head to glare at him, but his kneading pinned her in place. "Hey! No fair! That's... that's sexual harassment!" she sputtered, but the laughter bubbling in her voice completely undermined the protest. "Well, but that works. My morale is... improving."
"By the way, I overheard something last night..." Makoto said nonchalantly, stopping his hands.
His comment landed in the quiet room as a stone dropped into a still pond. The playful mood vanished instantly.
Ayane's laughter died in her throat. She went completely still under his hands. Mika, who had been calmly directing his massage, froze. Her hands, still resting on his wrist, went cold. Her grip tightened just a fraction, her manicured nails digging into his skin.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. The only sound was the low noise from the television, where an useless blue-haired goddess was currently being eaten by a giant frog.
"...Last night?" Mika's voice was soft, barely audible. It was completely devoid of its usual tone, just flat and cautious. "What... what did you hear, darling?"