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Saki loves her girlfriends.
Of course she does. They're the better parts of her, the people who fill up the empty spaces in her heart, who make her happy in ways she didn't even know she could feel. Being together for more of their lives than not, it would be wrong to not love them, when they feel more essential to her well being than breathing is.
And part of loving them is the expectation, her expectation that all their attention and love has to be focused on her. It makes sense. Saki loves them, and they love her back, so she should be soaking in all their attention. After all their time spent apart, and how much they went through to reach this point, she doesn't deserve any less, and neither do they deserve any less from her. Any deviation from that, and she gets jealous.
She gets very easily jealous. Her girlfriends will testify to this. She’s jealous when they spend their lunches with their classmates instead of her. She's jealous when they look away from her for a little too long when they’re on a date and she's dressed up all pretty for them. Sometimes, she's jealous of their stuffed toys, because they get to cuddle them to sleep when she can't.
Today, Saki is jealous of a dog.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s the smartest boy in the whole world?”
Honami’s sickly sweet tone is answered by a bark, which is then followed by laughter and the pattering of feet.
“Shibao, catch!”
The click of claws against floorboard echoes from the corridor. It pauses, then starts up again, growing louder, and stops to immediately precede a bout of excited panting.
“Good boy!” Honami says, her smile very audible in her voice, and that's Saki’s last straw.
She's been sitting here for the past fifteen minutes, waiting for Honami to finish her “Shibao break”, listening to her play with and praise him, and she's getting tired. She doesn't even want to be doing this here. The only reason they're here instead of at a cafe somewhere is because Honami offered to bake cookies to eat during their study break, and no matter what resentments Saki is harbouring, she isn't vengeful enough to deny herself Honami’s homemade cookies.
The only downside is, well, this. Honami getting distracted by her dog, giving him the attention that Saki should be getting.
Saki grinds her teeth together. She's been so good, doing her homework with little to no distractions, trying to make Honami proud by finishing all her math homework within this one study session. Math is infinitely harder than anything Shibao could possibly do, and yet he's received more love and attention in the past five minutes for simply playing fetch than Saki has in the past two hours.
So yes, Saki is jealous of a dog.
Which is stupid, because Shibao is Honami’s dog, and Saki is Honami’s girlfriend. Honami doesn't own Saki, as much as Saki wishes she did, and so she isn't solely responsible for Saki’s health and leisure. It makes sense that Honami pays more attention to Shibao, the dog who relies on her for all his enrichment in life.
But— Saki wants to rely on Honami for everything in her life, too. If she could permanently fuse them together, make Honami take her everywhere with her, make Honami feed her and breathe for her, she would. But she can't, so this is her poor approximation of it. Doing homework that she doesn't want to do. Slaving away for a crumb of attention that a dog gets for doing nothing.
It's this that drives Saki to push herself to her feet and walk into the corridor, where Honami and Shibao are playing. Shibao is on his back, his tongue hanging out and his tail a blur as Honami scratches at his belly. Honami crouches over him, entirely enamoured, murmuring what must be praises.
“Hona-chan,” Saki whines, and Honami finally looks up, her smile relaxing into something more tender. Saki straightens up, trying to make herself seem bigger, more attention-grabbing. “Can we—”
She only makes it two words before Honami’s gaze slides off her again and to the side. Her eyes widen. “Shibao, what are you— drop it!”
Frowning, Saki watches as Honami rushes over to Shibao, who had somehow got to his feet and slunk away within the five seconds Honami had looked away. She crouches down, her hands on Shibao’s snout, and wrestles something that turns out to be a plastic wrapper from his jaws. Saki thinks it's one of her chip wrappers, which must have ended up in the corridor somehow.
Great. The irony of Shibao using Saki’s favourite snack to get Honami's attention isn't lost on her.
“Don’t pick up trash from the ground,” Honami tells Shibao scoldingly. And because he knows exactly how to push Honami’s buttons, he whimpers at her tone, which elicits a wave of consolatory praise and pets from Honami and leaves Saki seething. She stalks back into the room, leaving Honami to fawn over her stupid, greedy, attention-seeking dog.
Saki can pick up plastic wrappers with her mouth, too. So what? Shibao isn’t special just because he’s a dog.
Saki, on the other hand, is special. She’s the most special girl in the whole world. And if Honami doesn’t want to act like it, Saki will just have to do something about it.
It takes two weeks for Saki to put her plan into action.
She could probably have done it in one, because it isn't a very complicated plan. Set up a date with Honami at her house, procure an item, bring the item to the date. Simple.
Honestly, the reason it takes twice as long as it should is because, for once, Saki’s worried that one of her schemes might be going too far. It's a fleeting worry, but one nonetheless, one that scratches at the back of her mind, not unlike the way a dog will scratch at a door to demand entry. Her worries, trying to be addressed, trying to disrupt her perfect plan.
It's a good thing that Saki’s stubborn. Stubborn enough to follow through with the plan, all the way until Honami's in her room, sitting at her table, with late afternoon sun drenching the room and the crucial item safely hidden in Saki’s closet.
Hours into their study session, Saki's completed her homework. Or, she's completed enough of it that she feels proud of it. She peeks over at Honami, who's still writing.
Normally, she would show Honami the one page of completed questions and ask for some sort of praise or reward. But today, she has a better idea.
Saki clears her throat. “I bought a gift for us.”
“Hm?” Honami looks up. “A gift?”
“Yeah.” Saki gets to her feet, not missing the way Honami sets down her pen to watch her cross the room to her closet. She has all of Honami’s attention; a good sign for what's to come, she hopes, as she pulls out the box from under a stack of clothes.
As soon as she’s close enough, Honami reaches for it curiously. The box is fairly flat and square shaped, and Honami flips it over in her hands, studying it. They both know it’s a little more fancy than what they normally buy for each other; Honami must be wondering why Saki’s presenting what might be an expensive gift to her solely, instead of to all her girlfriends at once.
“Open it,” Saki urges, and Honami does.
She knows what Honami’s looking at; she stared at it for an inordinate amount of time herself, trying to hype herself up for this. Still, she can’t help but prop herself up a little to look at it again, at the little circle of red leather.
Honami picks it up. Her brow furrows, and Saki tracks the movement, the moment when she realises what it is. “A collar?”
“Mm hm.”
“I thought you said it was for us,” Honami says slowly. Her fingers flick the collar's clasp open, almost absentmindedly, and Saki feels a low swoop of excitement in her stomach.
“It is for us,” Saki says. “It's in my size.”
“Oh,” Honami says slowly. “It's…”
Her eyes flick from side to side, as if in deep thought. Saki can't stand the waiting, so she scrambles into a sitting position with her back to Honami, sweeping her hair to the side. The words spill out before Honami can put it together, before she can say no.
“Put it on me?”
She swallows, feeling the silence stretch, then adds, “Please?”
For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, instead of replying, there’s the rustle of clothing, then the touch of leather on the back of her neck.
Saki tried on the collar in the store, trying to find the most suitable one. She remembers how it rested on her neck, both in the store and in her bedroom afterwards. The inside is padded, a softer material from the leather of the outside, to prevent chafing on her skin.
But more than the material, what she'd truly spent the bulk of time on was the size. She's worn chokers before, so she knows what it’s like to wear something encircling her neck, and her tolerance for the feeling of it. And yet, she made sure to find a collar that pressed into her skin just a little bit more than she normally liked with chokers.
When Honami loops the collar around her neck and secures it shut, it feels exactly how she remembers. Where on her neck it rested, how her throat pushed against it when she swallowed.
Honami’s hands retreat, a little hesitant, and Saki reaches up and grabs one of them. She hears Honami inhale sharply, and she twists around, locating the box and taking out the accompanying leash.
Saki clips one end of it to her collar, finds the other end and presses it into Honami's hand. Her fingers help Honami’s curl around it, and then Honami is holding the end of the leash. The leash attached to the collar around Saki’s neck. In the span of only a minute, Saki has collared herself and given the leash to Honami.
Honami blinks. “Saki-chan…”
“There,” Saki says happily. “I’m your puppy now.”
“My…”
Huffing, Saki decides to be more direct. She climbs into Honami’s lap, her knees pulled to her chest to sit sideways, and nuzzles into Honami’s neck. A peal of surprised laughter sounds just above her as Honami rushes to steady her. Before Honami can ask any more questions, Saki licks a stripe up her neck, then lets out her best bark.
The sound comes out half-hearted and weak. Embarrassed, Saki buries her face in Honami's neck. With her nose pressed to her skin, she waits, feeling her cheeks flushing. Surely she can’t get any more clear than—
“Oh,” Honami says. “Oh.”
Her grip on the leash shifts, from a loosely arranged grip to a firm one, and she laughs.
“Oh. You’re a puppy, Saki-chan. My puppy.”
Saki nods furiously, her nose brushing Honami’s neck, and barks again. She'd practiced it at home, but it still sounds bad, less an actual bark and more a human trying to bark.
“I— you're so—” Honami laughs again. “You're so silly, Saki-chan.”
Gently, she pushes at Saki’s chest. “Let me look at you.”
Saki peels herself away from Honami, reluctant to separate herself, but the reluctance is quickly replaced by anticipation when Honami lifts her hand to her neck.
She touches the collar, and Saki feels the corresponding pressure at her throat. The material of the collar is thick, but Saki feels the touch as if it's Honami's fingers directly on her skin as she traces along the length of the collar. Saki shivers at the intensity with which Honami studies it.
She tried this at home, locked in her bedroom, putting on the collar and leash, even tugging on the leash to feel the way it pressed into her throat. But nothing could have prepared her for this, the way the simple action of Honami stroking the collar sends shivers down her spine. It makes her feel like Honami's, in a way different from how Saki’s heart belongs and has belonged to her forever.
“It's a very pretty collar,” Honami says finally. “Did you pick this out yourself, puppy? Should I call you that?”
Yes, and very much yes. Saki nods as hard as she can, and Honami's eyes scrunch in a grin.
“Speak for me, then, will you?”
Saki pouts at her, shy. Her first two attempts were very obvious, very embarrassing failures. Why would Honami ask her to repeat that?
“I want to hear my puppy's voice,” Honami says. She touches Saki’s bottom lip with her finger. “Please?”
It takes all her willpower to not pout. Of course Honami would phrase it in a way that makes Saki want to do whatever she asks.
Her next bark is as hesitant as before. Or maybe it isn’t— things like memory and active recall feel a little far away now, and it’s too much for Saki to remember right now. None of it matters anyway, not when Honami beams and takes Saki’s face in her hands, squishing her cheeks together affectionately.
“Good girl!” Honami says. “Who’s a good girl, Saki-chan?”
Finally. Damn right I am. Saki barks again, an answer and a plea all in one, the praise lighting up her whole body.
“Yes! You are,” Honami laughs.
In Saki’s head, there’s a script. She’s seen Honami do this dozens of times: cup Shibao’s furry little face, praise him, and then give him head pats and ear scratches. And Honami has pet Saki before, combed and stroked her hair, so when Honami shifts her hand to the back of Saki’s head, she settles in the knowledge that she knows what’s next.
What she doesn’t expect is how good it feels.
With her hand buried in Saki’s hair, Honami drags her fingernails across her scalp. Saki jolts, her entire body tingling with the sensation. Honami’s never touched her like this before, scratching at her scalp lightly yet with intention. It’s ticklish in a pleasant way, Honami’s fingers finding itches that Saki didn’t even know existed and soothing them.
Her hand migrates to the top of Saki's head, her fingernails still scratching gently. With her eyes closed, Saki pushes into her hand. It's similar to the way Honami pets Shibao, but altered to suit a human, and god, where was Honami hiding these skills? Saki almost feels robbed, knowing that she could’ve been pampered by her girlfriend in this way this whole time.
Suddenly, the scratching stops. Saki's eyes snap open, a complaining whine already bubbling up in her throat.
“No ears,” Honami says again, and Saki registers where her hand is. Her thumb is brushing over the crown of her head, slightly off center, where ears would be if Saki truly was a dog. “Normally, Shibao loves it when I scratch here.”
Well, Saki isn't Shibao, is she? As much as she tried. Still, maybe she should've bought dog ears. Saki feels the pout forming. She wants Honami's hand back in her hair, so she pushes into it with a huff. Keep scratching.
“Mm,” Honami says, and then instead of resuming, she removes her hand from Saki's head altogether. Saki's just opening her mouth to complain when Honami starts scratching at the back of her actual ears.
Saki’s mouth falls open, her head tipping back with a groan. The touch sends tingles racing down her spine, as if Honami is touching the nerves themselves. How have none of her girlfriends tried scratching behind her ear when it feels so good? She doesn't even realise she's panting quietly until Honami stops scratching, and suddenly the sound of it is replaced with her rapid, stuttering breaths.
“You're so cute,” Honami beams. She leans in close to nuzzle their noses together, their lips brushing just slightly. Saki darts her tongue out, catching Honami's top lip and making her laugh. She pulls away, eyes sparkling, and Saki can't help but stare.
Is this what Shibao sees every day? No, she decides. Honami may love the both of them, but she loves Saki— not more, maybe, but differently. Shibao's just a dog, to be loved as something to be admired and taken care of, to be endeared by. But Saki's her girlfriend, not a something but a someone, who requires more effort to be loved with her basic needs taken care of. For Saki’s entire life, she’s received the more complicated, tailored parts of Honami’s love, instead of the simpler forms where the slightest bit of attention suffices.
But now, as a dog, maybe Saki can be loved in all those ways.
“C'mon,” Honami says, tapping Saki’s waist. “Turn around. Let's see if puppy likes belly rubs.”
Saki wriggles in her grip, feeling unwieldy. She feels like an overgrown dog, her limbs tucked to her chest, trying her best not to accidentally smack Honami with anything. She wishes, though, that she had a tail. It would probably be going crazy, smacking against Honami’s legs with every wag, and Saki yearns for the laughs that that would pull from Honami.
Instead, she stretches out between Honami’s legs, her back pressed to Honami’s front, and allows Honami to lavish her with attention.
It turns out that Saki loves belly rubs. Then Honami’s hands move to the rest of her body, and she loves that too. It must be something about wearing the collar, or acting like a puppy, that rewires her nerves and makes every touch feel magnified, she decides. Even a normal action like Honami stroking her arm makes her squirm.
By the end of it, Saki’s panting again, unsure if it was even a conscious decision to imitate a dog. All she knows is that her body is tingling from Honami’s touch.
“My puppy likes this, doesn't she?” Honami coos. Her voice pitched a little soft and a little high. Not the voice that she uses on Shibao, but definitely not a voice she uses with Saki on a regular basis either.
Saki barks again, the sound coming more and more naturally to her. Honami laughs, and it's a soft huff in her ear.
“You're so cute like this, Saki-chan,” she says. Her hand scratches lightly at Saki's flank, and Saki twists into it, whining her approval. “Do you want to lie down? We can cuddle.”
Saki pauses, considering. She cranes her neck up to look at Honami upside down, and Honami tilts her head down to meet her, her loose hair tickling Saki’s face. Without thinking, Saki whines, and Honami chuckles, leaning down and kissing her softly.
One kiss on her lips turns into two, turns into two more on each of her cheeks, then suddenly Honami is showering Saki in a flurry of kisses. Saki bites back a giggle, closing her eyes. Her heart feels like it could burst, as overwhelmed as she is with Honami’s love.
“Cuddles?” Honami asks again, with a final kiss to Saki’s forehead.
Having made up her mind, Saki shakes her head, instead making to sit up. Climbing out of Honami’s arms is difficult, but what she needs is more important.
“Hm?” Honami hums curiously. Saki doesn’t miss the way she picks the leash back up, casually, like the act of making sure Saki doesn't go too far is natural to her. “Does puppy want to go somewhere?”
Saki shakes her head, even though the idea of Honami taking her on a walk, doing a lap of the room with Saki trotting by her side, is appealing. Instead, she shuffles over to the table and, after some debate, picks up a pen between her teeth. She feels Honami's eyes on her as she makes her way back to Honami and drops the pen into her lap.
Honami blinks down at her, bemused. “Saki-chan? You want me to… write?”
Saki shakes her head. She picks up the pen again, nudges at Honami's hand, then drops the pen next to it. Her hands itch to help, to make what she wants clearer, but her paws are useless, so she simply stares up at Honami and hopes she understands.
“Oh,” Honami says. She picks the pen up. “You want to play fetch? Is that it?”
Relief surges through Saki's chest and emerges from her throat as a bark. She nods, nosing at Honami's hand as her girlfriend laughs and pets her head, praising her for communicating so well.
Honami hooks a finger into Saki's collar and tugs her slightly away. Saki pouts, missing the touch of her nose on Honami's skin, but the pout quickly disappears when Honami raises the pen and nudges them around to face empty space. Immediately, Saki leans forward, eager to start playing, but Honami pulls her back with a hand on her shoulder.
“Hold on,” she says. Her hands come up to Saki's neck and unclip the leash from her collar. Saki immediately misses the slight weight of it. “Okay. Ready?”
Before Saki can finish nodding, Honami tosses the pen. It leaves her hand, and Saki's head snaps to follow it; it lands just beyond the table and skitters a little further, coming to rest just short of the edge of the padded rug.
Saki would have loved to bound after the pen the way Shibao does, but she can only go so fast. She hopes, at least, that Honami views her with the same amount of endearmentment as she half-crawls, half-scoots over to the pen.
She’s never given her flooring much thought, but this time she’s grateful that she didn’t pick a furry carpet. There’s nothing to get in her face as she ducks down to pick up the pen. She has to angle her head a little, and it slips twice, but she eventually gets it clasped firmly between her teeth.
When she turns around, Honami is looking at her. Saki’s heart stutters, her teeth almost loosening around the pen.
Honami looks at her all the time, with this same love in her eyes, but this situation that they’re in is so completely new that Saki can’t help but feel as if she’s being seen by Honami for the first time ever. Honami’s head is tilted to the side, her face softened by a besotted smile. Saki squirms in place, suddenly shy for the first time since she’d first put the collar on.
“Here, Saki-chan,” Honami calls, patting her lap.
Saki crawls back to her, their eyes locked the entire time, almost stumbling over herself. Her girlfriend looks so fond, and Saki wants to ask why, or make a comment, but there’s a pen in her mouth, and Saki can’t think of anything besides the fact that she has to return it.
Honami reaches for her before she closes the gap. Saki drops the pen as the scent of vanilla surrounds her, as she climbs into Honami’s lap and listens to her laugh.
“Good girl!” Honami says. She threads a hand into Saki’s hair, and Saki barks unthinkingly, squirming into a sitting position to push into Honami’s hand. She wants to be closer, to be pet harder, and Honami seems to read her mind; an arm encircles her waist to pull her closer, until Saki has her head buried in Honami’s chest, giving her the perfect angle to keep giving her scratches.
“Good puppy,” Honami is cooing. “You’re such a good girl, Saki-chan.”
Saki whines, the sound muffled by Honami’s shirt. She thinks she might be drooling, so absorbed as she is by Honami's affection. This is what it’s like to be adored like a dog, she thinks. To be praised and loved simply for what she is, and to accept it with no question.
Saki’s head tips back when Honami tugs at her collar. With her eyes closed, she feels Honami scratch at the underside of her chin, then kiss her on the nose. Instinctively, her lips part, and Honami kisses them too, a short one that ends before Saki can even react to it.
“Does Saki-chan want to play more?” Honami asks. She has the pen in hand again. Saki nods, and she smiles. “Get off my lap, then.”
There's a sense of deja vu as Saki extracts herself from Honami's lap, reluctant to part from her warmth. But then Honami taps her nose with the pen to draw her attention, then tosses it, and Saki's thoughts are immediately consumed by the command to fetch.
She relaxes into the cycle: waiting for the toss, crawling after the pen, fetching it, receiving praise and pets. Quickly, her world narrows down to that pen, where it is and how quickly she can crawl to it and back. Honami is her anchor, the presence she returns to and the person she leans into when she’s rewarded with head scratches.
Nothing matters but the next wave of praise, not even her own body. It's not until she drops the pen and collapses into Honami's lap that she realises how sore her knees are.
Honami yelps; Saki would have yelped too, but all she can muster is a startled huff as she lands headfirst onto Honami, her arms and legs giving out. Protective arms immediately encircle her, cradling her head.
“Are you okay, Saki-chan?” Honami frets.
Her fingers pet Saki’s head, as if searching for wounds, and Saki hears the way her voice has half slipped back into her regular one. That's not what she wants, so she buries her head into Honami's thighs, whining as she shuffles up to reach her stomach. She doesn't know where this neediness comes from, but she acts on it, her limbs scrabbling weakly at the mat. Her lips meet the fabric of Honami’s shirt, but it isn't enough.
“Saki-chan—”
That's all Honami gets out before Saki pushes her onto her back. They tumble backwards, a tangle of limbs, Saki weighing Honami down until her girlfriend is splayed out below her. Saki settles her head on Honami's stomach— eliciting a soft oof as the wind is knocked out of her— and barks once, cheerfully.
From her vantage point, she sees Honami's face come into view as she props herself up. She sees the startled, perplexed expression morph into a smile, then a laugh, and then her entire body vibrates in response to Honami's mirth.
“Okay, puppy,” Honami says. She shifts, getting into a more comfortable position, while Saki is happy to do nothing but be dead weight. “I guess we're cuddling now.”
Saki wants nothing more. Honami spreads her legs to let Saki settle in better between them, then wraps them around her, and Saki squirms happily at the way Honami surrounds her so thoroughly. With Honami's scent in her nose and her warm body holding her, Saki closes her eyes as Honami's hands tangle themselves into Saki's hair and scratch gently at her scalp.
“Comfortable?” Honami asks, and Saki nods as best she can. She's rewarded with a pat to the top of her head. “Good. Good girl.”
Almost involuntarily, Saki makes some sort of noise, between a whine and a huff, and Honami laughs. “You really like the praise, huh?”
It's a rhetorical question, one that Saki deigns to respond with only an unamused glance through one cracked eyelid. Honami’s stomach vibrates gently with laughter, and Saki closes her eyes again, content.
Honami's hands haven't left her hair. In fact, now that Saki has time to think about it, it feels like Honami hasn't stopped touching her since she put the collar on. Save for the brief moments of Saki fetching the pen, Honami has been holding, petting her nonstop. Saki could stay like this forever, being loved in this simple way.
“You're a sweet puppy, Saki-chan,” Honami hums. Fingernails scratch behind Saki's ear, and she pushes into them. “I know you were embarrassed about barking at first, but I think you sound really cute. You're always cute.”
Something has changed in Honami's voice. Saki feels it like emerging from deep water, the pressure surrounding her lightening as she rises to the surface. She realises what it is; the high-pitched, babying tone has shifted, to resemble the voice that Saki’s more familiar with. In the back of her mind, the part of her that realises what this means grumbles, but the rest of her remains still, lulled into stillness by the voice that she loves no matter what.
“You're really pretty with your collar,” Honami continues. “And I liked holding the leash. It made me feel like you were mine, you know? My beautiful, beautiful Saki-chan.”
Saki tilts her head, opening her eyes in earnest this time. A blush has spread across her cheeks; she feels it warm her from the inside. What's with all the praise? She made it clear she wants praise, she knows, but this feels different. Different from before, from the mindless cooing that was more like another form of attention than actual conversation.
Their eyes meet, and Honami smiles gently. “You can just ask me for praise next time, Saki-chan. No need to act like a dog.”
Saki's pouting before the words fully process. Then they do, and she pouts harder. Her face really does flame up now, her entire scheme ripped apart and exposed.
“I just—! I just wanted to be treated like how you do Shibao,” she whines. Her throat feels weird, forming words after making only dog sounds for the past while, and even Honami didn't seem to expect this; she blinks, surprised, before laughing again.
“Shibao’s a dog,” Honami says. “I would think I treat you better than I do him, right? I mean, I can't have a conversation with him.”
Saki just whines, embarrassed and unable to voice exactly how she feels. It was a good plan, but of course Honami saw through it in the end. And now that she knows what Saki wants, and how irrational it is, she'll never do it again. She buries her face into Honami's stomach, all too aware of how Honami's fingers on her scalp have stopped moving.
“I think I get it, though,” Honami says, quietly. “I think… I liked treating you like a puppy. Is that weird?”
Saki stares up at her, wide-eyed. Then she shakes her head so vigorously that she feels her hair hit her own face.
“No! I think… I mean…” She sputters for a moment. “I don't think it's weird. We can do it again.”
She watches Honami’s eyes scrunch into a relieved smile. “Really?” Honami tugs her upwards, and Saki follows until she's on Honami's chest, where she normally is when they cuddle. It's a superior cuddling position, being able to hear her heartbeat and get up close with her neck and face, and Saki didn't realise just how much she missed it until now.
“We'll do it again,” Honami says, and she taps Saki’s nose, mirroring a move she does with Shibao all the time. “But for now, can I kiss my girlfriend? I miss her, and I don't kiss dogs.”
“Yes!” Saki perks up so quickly she feels like a puppy all over again, scrambling to her elbows so she can hover over Honami. She wants to lick her girlfriend's face, all over her soft cheeks and her pretty lips. “Yes. I missed you too.”
“Okay, darling.” Honami throws her arm around Saki’s shoulders, beaming up at her. A hand comes to the back of her neck to guide her down, and Saki obeys.