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[みつこ] 先生さよなら、また明日 (ふゅーじょんぷろだくと) Title : Sensei Sayonara, Mata Ashita / 先生さよなら、また明日 Author : Mitsuko / みつこ 2021 / Japanese / JPEG Tags : School, Student x Teacher, Age Gap

Julius slipped out of the warmth of the nest, reluctantly peeling himself away from the spot Yukie had occupied. His skin still tingled where those adoring kisses had been, and he huffed a soft laugh as he grabbed the nearest robe—one that practically swallowed him whole. It smelled like Yukie too, which didn’t help the flush on Julius’s cheeks. He tied the robe loosely and padded to the door, spotting the large insulated paper bag sitting dutifully on the floor. Thank the stars I ordered extra, he thought, remembering the ferocious growl of Yukie’s stomach. Honestly, if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought a dragon was about to burst out of his mate. He picked up the bag—it was pleasantly warm, heavy, and very promising, and carried it back inside. The aroma of fried chicken and spices filled the entryway instantly. As Julius closed the door, he took a moment just to breathe and smile to himself. He could still feel Yukie’s lingering possessiveness wrapped around him like a second robe, that ridiculous attempt at flirting still echoing in his ears. [“Only my mate is allowed that kind of attention for now~.” ] The memory made him snort. “Needy demon,” he muttered under his breath, affectionate and amused. With the bag in hand, he walked back toward the bed slowly, deliberately, because he knew Yukie hadn’t slunk off somewhere. The pillows were far too suspiciously piled, and Julius wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t notice. He lowered the bag onto a side table, keeping a careful eye on the wobbling pillow mound. “You know…” he said lightly, not addressing the ‘pillow pile’ directly, “I'm glad I ordered extra crispy. And those little fries you pretend not to love.” He loosened the robe with one hand and peeked inside the bag with the other, inhaling deeply. “Mmm… smells good.” He smiled to himself, knowing full well Yukie wouldn’t be able to resist for long. ------ Yumro didn’t stay still. The moment Haruhi’s breath hitched and that first tear slid down his cheek, something inside Yumro snapped—soft, instinctive, protective. His wolf pushed forward hard, urging him, go to him, now. And Yumro did. He crossed the short distance in an instant, pulling out the chair beside Haruhi and sitting close—close enough for Haruhi to lean on him if he wanted, but not so close that it trapped him. His movements were slow, open, giving Haruhi every chance to deny him. But when the second tear fell, Yumro gently slipped an arm around Haruhi’s shoulders and guided him into the warmth of his chest. Not forcing—just offering. And when Haruhi didn’t pull away, Yumro exhaled shakily and held him a little tighter, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of his mate’s head. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low against Haruhi’s temple. “Let it out, love. I’m right here.” He felt Haruhi’s breathing tremble against him, felt the quiet struggle in each inhale. Yumro smoothed a hand down Haruhi’s spine, long calming strokes meant to ground rather than restrain. His other thumb brushed slow circles along Haruhi’s shoulder, comforting, steady. When he finally spoke, it was with his cheek resting lightly atop Haruhi’s hair, his voice warm and close. “Haruhi… listen to me.” His tone was soft but firm, the kind of certainty that held no room for doubt. “I don’t see you as weak. Not even a little.” His hand tightened briefly around Haruhi as if to emphasize the point. “You survived things you never should have had to. You protected yourself. You protected Haru.” He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Haruhi’s temple. “That takes strength most people never find in their entire lives.” He pulled back just slightly—enough to see Haruhi’s face, to gently thumb away the tears still slipping free. “And yes, you’re sick right now,” Yumro continued softly. “You’re healing. That’s why I take care of you. Not because I think you’re beneath me. But because I love you. And when someone you love is hurting, you don’t stand at a distance and pretend they’re fine.” He leaned in a little closer, forehead gently touching Haruhi’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Sorry anything I did brought back memories of him. Sorry you were ever treated like something to control or use.” His voice trembled with restrained anger—not at Haruhi, but at the man who had hurt him. “I would never hurt you. Never force you. Never make you feel small.” Yumro drew Haruhi back against his chest again, arms wrapping fully around him now, secure and warm. “I don’t want us arguing before I take Haru out,” he murmured into Haruhi’s hair. “I want you to feel safe. I want you to feel loved.” His hold softened, but he didn’t let go. “You’re my equal, Haruhi. My partner. My mate. And I’m here, right now, because you’re hurting. Not because you’re weak.” He pressed another tender kiss to Haruhi’s temple, then rested his cheek there, holding him close. "Do you really hate me taking care of you even now?"

Asher didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until the words I’m not rejecting you finally left Kaito’s lips. Relief hit him like a blow—sharp, dizzying, overwhelming. His wolf let out a sound that wasn’t quite a whine and wasn’t quite a growl, something raw and grateful and so full his chest ached with it. The tension that had been strung taut through every inch of him loosened all at once, leaving a trembling exhale slipping past Asher’s parted lips. Kaito wasn’t rejecting him. He wasn’t losing the person fate had carved from the same thread as him. And he’d liked Asher—before the bond, before the truth, before any of this. It took everything Asher had not to reach out and pull him into his arms. Later. When Kaito could handle it. Asher forced his breathing to slow, sitting a little straighter, letting every emotion he felt show openly on his face—no walls, no defenses, nothing for Kaito to interpret as disappointment or doubt. “Kaito…” His voice was low—not rough like before, but warm. Full. “You have no idea what you just gave me.” His wolf pressed hard against his skin, begging for closeness. He lifted one hand, slowly and let his palm hover over Kaito’s cheek. When Kaito didn’t pull back, Asher’s fingers brushed lightly along his jaw, a touch as gentle as breath. “I wasn’t going to reject you,” he said quietly. “Not now. Not ever. Even if you didn't have a wolf, magic or not, for all I care. You’re still…” His words trailed off, catching on the truth gathering in his chest. “…you. And that’s enough for me.” His wolf hummed in fierce agreement. Asher smiled—small, a little unsteady, but real. “And for the record? I want to help you. With everything. Your wolf, your abilities, your control—whatever you need. You don’t have to figure this out alone.” He hesitated then, not out of doubt, but out of wanting to choose each word with care. “I want to bring you to my pack,” he admitted. “Not to throw you into anything. Not to drown you in people or expectations. Just… when you’re ready.” His thumb brushed once, reassuring. “They’ll protect you. They’ll stand with you. And I’d like you to know the place I come from—the place where I want you to have a home too, if you choose to.” His heart stuttered at the thought of Kaito among his family, among the pack. Once he was initiated they would feel the bond the moment he joined. There would be questions, excitement, worry—but they would accept him. Asher had no doubt about that. But that was for later. Right now, the world outside was still dangerous for Kaito to be on his own. Asher’s expression shifted, the softness still there but threaded now with resolve. The wolf inside him rose, sharp with purpose. “I do have to meet up with my brother,” he said, voice steadying. “We’re tracking the group that was after us—and now that I know more about what they want… I think we finally have a real shot at finding them.” His jaw tightened. His wolf snarled silently. Nobody touched their mate and walked away unscathed. “If you want to come with me, if you want to be part of this, I won’t stop you. But I won’t push you either.” He let that settle, meeting Kaito’s eyes with a steadiness that spoke louder than anything else he could say. “You’re not a burden, Kaito. You’re not a liability. I don’t think of you as weak...You don’t even see how strong you already are.” His voice dipped, warm and honest. “I’m glad you didn’t reject me.” (A heartbeat.) “I’m really damn glad.” His wolf rumbled deep inside him, pleased. Asher’s gaze softened again. “When you’re ready… just tell me what you need.”

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Sora woke slowly, a soft groan slipping out before he could stop it. His whole body felt heavy, warm, and pleasantly sore in ways that made his cheeks heat just remembering why. When he stretched, his muscles pulled in protest—especially his thighs—and he winced, though the ache carried its own kind of satisfaction. Morning light filtered through the thin curtains in soft stripes, dust motes drifting lazily in the beams. Sora blinked at them, still half-asleep, then turned his head toward the other side of the bed. Empty. No Fang sprawled beside him, no low breathing, no cold arm flung over his waist. Sora blinked again, trying to figure out what time it even was. Late morning? Early morning? Afternoon? The room was too quiet to tell. He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting back to the ceiling as the memories of last night rolled over him—slow at first, then in an overwhelming rush. Fang’s hands, Fang’s mouth, Fang’s voice. The way Sora had clung to him. The way he’d said— I love you. Not once. Not twice. Over and over, breathless and desperate. Heat flushed up Sora’s neck. But not from embarrassment exactly, he didn’t regret saying it. lt was more from the way his body reacted, a flutter in his stomach at the memory of how intensely Fang had responded. How overwhelming the pleasure had been. How good it felt to finally say it after holding it in for so long, after feeling starved for affection for even longer. A muffled sound tugged him back to the present. Voices. Sora frowned, lifting his head slightly. He hadn’t noticed before, just background noise blended with the quiet hum of morning outside, but now that he focused, he recognized Fang’s voice through the door. Low. Irritated, maybe. But still talking to someone. 'Fang has… a guest?' Sora blinked at the thought. Fang didn’t get visitors. Still… Sora felt a little relieved. Happy, even. Fang deserved friends. He deserved people. He carefully swung his legs off the bed, wincing just a little at the soreness in his thighs. He made his way into the bathroom to relieve himself, then washed his hands, splashing a bit of cool water on his face. When he lifted his head to the mirror, he froze. “Jesus—” He barely recognized himself. His black curls were sticking out in every possible direction, completely feral. His eyes were a little red at the corners, lips swollen, and his pale skin was covered in red, blooming hickeys. Some were small and faint, others deep and striking, scattered like someone had tried dotting him with fingertips dipped in ink. A few distinct bite marks stood out too. Sora swallowed, heat creeping all the way down his neck as he turned to check his back in the mirror behind him. It was the same story there. Marks everywhere. But the worst—the one that made his stomach twist, was the wound at the base of his neck. A closed puncture mark in the shape of teeth, painfully visible and red against his skin. Eventhough it looked like it had healed much already, it was impossible to miss. “Great,” he whispered to himself, exasperated. “How the hell am I supposed to cover that?” He grabbed a damp cloth and gently dabbed at it, cleaning away the faint smudges Fang must have missed earlier. It didn’t hurt much—more tender than anything, so infection seemed unlikely. Once cleaned, he stepped back into the bedroom and rummaged through Fang’s closet. His own clothes were nowhere in sight; hopefully Fang hadn’t just left them lying around in front of whoever was out there. Everything Fang owned hung loose on him, of course. But he finally found a pair of joggers he could tighten at the waist and an oversized hoodie thick enough to hide the bruising along his throat. The collar came up high, brushing right against the bite mark, but it was the best option he had. If it were just Fang out there, he’d have thrown on a T-shirt and dealt with it. Fang already knew exactly what he’d done to Sora’s body. Sora was pretty sure every mark was intentional. Sora pulled the hoodie over his head and let it fall around him, it swallowed him whole. The sleeves dangled well past his hands, and the hem brushed his thighs, but at least it hid… most things. The wound at his neck still throbbed faintly, a reminder every time the fabric brushed it, but he tugged the collar up anyway. Better that than someone seeing it. He took a breath. Okay. You’re decent enough. You don’t look like you got hit by a truck. Just… maybe tapped by one. Lightly. He exhaled, stepping over to the bedroom door, and pressed his ear to it. Fang’s voice carried in that low, annoyed tone he used when he was tolerating someone out of necessity, but that was the tone he usallyhad around others, so he couldn’t tell much from it. The other's voice were higher, smug—made the hair on Sora’s arms prickle. Something about it felt… weird. Like metal scraping stone. Sora’s throat tightened. He debated going back to bed. Pulling the blankets over his head. Pretending he was still sleeping. But Fang had someone over. That same Fang. Who didn’t even like people near his apartment, let alone inside it. So this person meant something. And Sora didn’t want to be rude and hid around. He cracked open the door and peered out. His stomach fluttered with nerves he didn’t want to acknowledge. What if this person didn’t like him? What if Fang hadn’t told them about him? What if this was someone Fang respected and Sora walked in looking like he lost a fight with a vacuum cleaner? He swallowed hard and edged toward the corner where the hallway met the living room. Slowly, carefully, he peeked. He first saw Fang’s broad back, arms crossed, posture stiff with annoyance. He was talking to someone sitting on the kitchen counter. No. Not sitting... Floating. Sora’s eyes widened. The man hovered inches above the counter, relaxed as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His white hair fell in soft waves, and his clothes shimmered with patterns that looked far too detailed to be human craftsmanship. And his eyes were purple. Bright and aware—glancing around the kitchen lazily like everything amused him. That had to be magic. Or something not human. Sora’s breath caught in his throat. He backed up quickly, pressing his back to the hallway wall, hoodie collar pulled instinctively higher. His heart beat too fast, a cold fluttering in his stomach. Sora shut his eyes, steadying himself. Fang wouldn’t be ashamed of you. He wouldn’t. He just… wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do in this situation. And that made him nervous. Slowly Sora found the courage to clear his throat and step forward more visible in the door. "Um.. Good morning" Sora cringed at his own voice, it was hoarse and sounded a quiet rough.

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