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Summary
That night at Shellac, when Akiyama heard not one word he said, when he just got close and felt him out, when he saw him as something pretty and fuckable—
He understood, then, why people became sluts. Tanimura’s always acknowledged his own beauty, but he’s never been offered the kind of open admiration Akiyama offered him. He’s never been objectified in such a way that made him feel good, too.
Akiyama’s the right kind of lustful, the right kind of stupid.