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If there’s anything Kenta discovered living with Kim, it was Kim’s obsession with his chest. Any chance he got, Kim would bite, squeeze, or shove his head into Kenta’s chest. It was a compromise Kenta made with Kim that whenever his shirt was off—even if he was sweaty from working out—his chest was free range. Kim had every right to cop a feel which is how Kenta ended up here, propped against their counter sipping coffee, with Kim motorboating him. How's this his life? “You’re a weird little guy, you know that” Kenta sighed, but Kim didn’t care.