Living in the Heart of Tokyo

As if sharing the same thoughts, Mitsuha outside recalled the moments they had bathed together during their body-swapping days.

Meanwhile, Kyousuke's mind drifted back to their time in Itomori—specifically, the old bathhouse where he had once carefully washed Mitsuha's body with a damp towel.

In a way, Mitsuha knew him better than even Sakura.

After all, no matter how close he and Sakura had been, they had never bared themselves to each other so completely.

But with Mitsuha?

They had explored every intimate inch of one another's bodies.

If not for the thorough sex ed classes at Higashi Middle School, he might've been utterly lost in those heated moments.

Speaking of which, Higashi's curriculum had been surprisingly comprehensive—demonstrating everything from how sanitary pads absorbed liquid to the proper use of tampons.

Even with two lifetimes' worth of experience, Kyousuke had learned things he'd never known before.

Thank goodness he hadn't embarrassed Mitsuha.

She'd been so nervous back then, flooding him with tutorial videos just to make sure he wouldn't fumble.

By the time he finished his rushed shower, Mitsuha was still drying the dishes.

Watching her bent over the sink, sleeves rolled up as she worked, a wave of tenderness surged in his chest.

Quiet as a shadow, he slipped behind her—channeling some long-forgotten stealth technique—before wrapping his arms around her waist, palms pressing flat against her stomach.

"Ah! Stop that—don't touch my belly!"

Mitsuha yelped, not out of shyness, but sheer mortification.

Let it be known: no one was immune to the temptation of Kyousuke's cooking, herself included.

After that indulgent meal, her stomach had rounded ever so slightly, and the thought of him noticing made her want to vanish.

"Heh. This is what couples do, isn't it?"

Kyousuke kept his hands in place, relishing the soft cotton of her skirt and the warmth radiating through it.

Resting his chin on her bare shoulder, he traced the delicate slope of her neck with his jaw.

The scent of white plum blossoms clung to her, flooding his senses.

"Okay, okay, I can't finish the dishes like this. Go pick a movie, Kyousuke. I'll be right there." She tilted her head back to bump lightly against his.

"Sure~" Kyousuke drew out the word, amused.

Normally, he'd spend an hour agonizing over pre-dinner videos.

But tonight, he scrolled straight to a film he'd bookmarked ages ago—some forgettable romantic drama set in a seaside Japanese town.

The cinematography was pretty, the actors decent, but the plot had always bored him.

Now, though? Boring was perfect. Who cared about storyline at a time like this?

By the time Mitsuha joined him on the couch—fresh-faced from brushing her teeth—Kyousuke was already pulling her close, hands locking around her slender waist.

She squirmed, her body fluid as a water snake beneath his grip.

Normally, he'd recoil from such creatures, but tonight, he only held tighter.

When he looked down, her face stole his breath.

The ceiling light bathed her in a soft glow, turning her raven hair into spilled ink against the cushions.

Her small, perfect ears peeked through the strands, and her cheeks burned with a blush that rivaled her lips.

But it was her eyes that undid him—deep pools of emotion, so clear he could see his own reflection.

'Who do I look like to you right now?' Swallowing the thought, he took a steadying breath.

"Mitsuha."

She met his gaze, lips pressing together briefly before curling into a smile.

"Mm~"

The light caught her mouth, painting its already-crimson curves even redder.

Between slightly parted lips, he glimpsed the faintest flash of teeth.

Kyousuke knew that look.

She was thirsty.

And it was his job to quench it.

He closed the distance without hesitation.

Their noses brushed first—cool, damp from her recent wash, carrying the faint citrus of her cleanser.

Then their mouths met, and any pretense of gentleness vanished.

He kissed her hard, drinking her in.

"Mmh.. Mmh"

"Mmh.."

"Nn—ah❤︎…"

Mitsuha's gasp sent fire through his veins.

Her lips yielded instantly, and his tongue swept past them, skimming the textured flesh before nudging against the barrier of her teeth.

With a shudder, she let him in.

The inside of her mouth was fever-hot, wet and sweet.

His tongue found hers—a slick, shy thing that recoiled at first before tangling with his in a clumsy dance.

"Nnh, mwah… Mmph, mmh❤︎…"

"Mmh, mwah, pwah.. Fwahh❤︎…"

Her breaths came in broken whimpers now, a far cry from her usual boldness.

Small hands fisted in his shirt, then slid around his back, nails digging into muscle as she pulled him closer.

Kyousuke barely registered moving, but suddenly, his palms were no longer on her waist.

They crept upward, mapping the ladder of her ribs through thin fabric before finally—finally—cupping the softness of her chest.

"Ah.. ❤︎!"

Even through layers of cloth and lace, the shape of her was exquisite.

The cotton skirt he'd admired earlier now felt like an enemy.

He wanted to touch it with bare skin.

But for now, this was enough.

"Ahn… Nnh, fwahh.. Ah❤︎!"

"Nnh, Aaah.. nnh."

Their kiss deepened, tongues chasing, twining.

Mitsuha's eyelids fluttered shut the moment their lips touched, but beneath them, her pupils darted wildly.

Kyousuke watched it all—the way her lashes trembled, the flush creeping down her neck—and wondered how he'd ever survived without her.

"Fwahh… Ah, ahh…"

Her body trembling under his touch, every caress sent electric waves of pleasure through her.

"Hahh❤︎, hahh…."

"Nnnh, ahh, ahhhh! Ah❤︎, ahhh❤︎!"

Mitsuha's eyelids fluttered wildly, her heart caught in a storm of hesitation and desire.

At last, Kyousuke could no longer resist the temptation—soft, yielding, intoxicating.

His fingers pressed deeper, sinking into the supple warmth beneath them.

The sensation was maddening: plush yet resilient, as if begging to be molded yet defiantly springing back.

A memory flashed through his mind—Sakura's teasing voice on their first drive riding motorcycle together, her small hand playfully gripping the night air: 

"Kyousuke, this is what holding a 'C' cup feels like~"

Mitsuha's chest wasn't particularly large, but it was more than enough to unravel him.

His hands trembled with barely restrained hunger, his mouth working with renewed urgency against hers.

And just like that, every curve, every measurement—seared itself into his mind.

With a breathy gasp, Mitsuha finally opened her eyes, her gaze liquid with shyness.

"Nhah, hahh, hahhhh… Hahhh.."

She slid her hands from his back, capturing his wandering hands but she didn't push him away.

Instead, her fingers interlaced with his, holding them in place as she shut her eyes again and leaned in, her tongue shyly tracing his lips.

'Just this… just like this is enough,' she thought.

Kyousuke needed no further invitation.

Emboldened, his earlier restraint shattered.

His grip turned possessive, kneading, shaping her softness as if committing every detail to memory.

Whatever was playing on the screen long faded into oblivion.

Even his prodigious mind couldn't recall a single frame.

All that remained were sensations—slick, tender, yielding, perfect—and the relentless drum of his own pulse.

They paused, of course, catching their breath.

It wasn't just him lost in the haze.

Whenever he tried to pull back from the kiss, worried by Mitsuha's flushed cheeks and ragged breaths, she'd pull his collar and drag him down, their mouths crashing together anew.

Her once-pristine dress now lay crumpled under his hands.

Her bra had slipped loose countless times, yet each time, with stubborn determination, she'd adjusted it back into place.

Then the movie's ending theme floated through the room, soft and melodic.

"Nn… ah—"

A shuddering sigh spilled from Mitsuha's, dripping with honeyed exhaustion.

She finally released her grip on his neck, collapsing onto the couch in a boneless heap, her face still burning.

Kyousuke slumped beside her, pulling her close until every curve of her body aligned with his.

He pressed a kiss to her damp forehead.

The taste of salt lingered on his lips.

Glancing down, he saw it—glistening trails of sweat tangled in her hair.

Despite the heat, despite the stickiness between them, Mitsuha still wriggled closer, as if trying to melt into his very skin.

For minutes—or maybe hours—they stayed like that, tangled in each other, long after the credits rolled and commercials flickered across the screen.

"Kyousuke~"

Mitsuha's voice was a lazy purr, bright with contentment.

"Mm." He nudged her gently.

"I'm really glad I met you."

"Same here." His fingers found hers, lacing tightly together.

"Heh… I stole Kyousuke's first kiss." She giggled, giddy.

"Heh… and I stole Mitsuha's." His laughter mirrored hers.

A phone buzzed somewhere, breaking the spell.

Reluctantly, Mitsuha untangled their hands and stood.

"I should head home. Gotta shower first~"

"Yeah, I'll clean up here." He rose too, snagging his phone from the table.

Mitsuha padded to the closet, rummaging for fresh clothes.

She visited often enough to keep spares here—not that her family would notice.

Her father and sister were always gone by dawn, none the wiser if she swapped outfits.

She opened a small drawer and pulled out a pair of strawberry-print panties.

She knew it was a little childish for a college student like her to wear something so cutesy, but she couldn't help it—she just loved them!

"Don't peek, okay?" she said playfully, turning her head back before slipping into the bathroom.

"Please, I could close my eyes and still recall every inch of your body~" someone responded in a similarly teasing tone.

"You're such a pervert, always sneaking a feel!"

His words stirred up distant memories in her mind.

Even though they'd just shared an intimate moment, hearing him say that still made her blush uncontrollably.

Throwing him a flustered glare, the girl who had only moments ago boldly grabbed Kyousuke's collar to ask for a kiss now turned tail and bolted into the bathroom, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

The sound of water soon filled the air, and through the glass door, the faint outline of her shapely figure was just visible.

Kyousuke, who gotten neglected earlier, reached down and gave his "little brother" a reassuring pat.

"Hang in there, buddy. It's all in the name of a grander cause!"

Short-term restraint was a small price to pay when the future was looking so bright.

Yes, he was sure of it.

But first, he needed to sort out the clothes situation.

Although no one had been home when he'd dropped by to change earlier—and Eriri and Utaha-senpai, who were waiting for him, would never notice.

There was no telling what might happen.

One slip-up and he'd find himself sketching all night under Eriri's watchful eye instead of sleeping.

Eriri wouldn't outright say she was mad because he changed outfits during a quick trip out.

She'd probably mutter something about "the looming deadline" and "no slacking off."

Worse still, Utaha-senpai would no doubt be all too happy to see it unfold.

She might even sleep early herself, only to relieve Eriri in the morning, leaving him no chance to rest at all.

Just thinking about the picture Utaha-senpai had sent him earlier was enough to get him worked up again.

And while he could technically pull an all-nighter—or even two—without batting an eye.

Kyousuke didn't want to risk being branded a deserter by the ever-watchful Yukinoshita back at school.

After a moment's hesitation, he decided to just douse his clothes with deodorizer and keep wearing them for the trip home.

Mitsuha soon emerged from the bathroom, hair still glistening with droplets, her delicate face adorably flushed.

She had slipped into a pair of slim-fitting blue jeans and a red hoodie, the simple yet stylish outfit accentuating her long, slender figure.

Though Mitsuha usually dressed conservatively, no one knew better than Kyousuke just how stunning her body really was.

Years of dance had gifted her with extraordinary flexibility, and kendo training had sculpted her muscles with just the right definition.

He was sure that if she ever wore black stockings, she'd be just as breathtaking as Utaha-senpai.

"Kyousuke, do you want to take a shower too?" Mitsuha asked, drying her hair with a towel.

"I'm good. I'll shower when I get home." He would've loved to join her, but it was getting late.

Tomorrow morning he'd probably have to drag Eriri out of bed and haul her off to school.

"Just let me help dry your hair," Kyousuke offered.

It was one of his favorite things to do—not because of any suggestive angles or stolen glances.

He was long past that stage.

He just genuinely loved watching the girl he liked, looking fresh and radiant after a bath.

"Mhm~" Miyamizu Mitsuha let out a soft hum and settled onto the couch.

Kyousuke carefully dried her hair and tidied everything up.

Then, carrying the trash, they took the elevator down together.

Of course, they weren't going to throw it out right now; they'd take it back home and deal with it later.

Mitsuha insisted on handling that part herself.

The moon hung high in the sky, its light seemingly untouched by the city's neon glow.

It cast a pure, white brilliance on everything below—a rare, clear night for April.

"I remember the comet's arrival night had a beautiful moon too," Kyousuke said with a smile, recalling how he'd been engrossed in his childish fighting games back then.

"Mm," Mitsuha answered, tilting her face up slightly.

But instead of looking at the sky, she focused intently on Kyousuke, lips pouting ever so slightly.

His sharp eyes didn't miss that small gesture—he knew exactly what it meant.

She was reluctant to say goodbye.

Without hesitation, he bent down and captured those soft, crimson lips in a gentle kiss.

A brief nibble, a tender pull, and then they parted again.

"Hehe~ let's head home!" Mitsuha giggled, twirling the strap of her little blue purse.

"Yeah, let's go," Kyousuke replied, reaching out to clasp her small hand in his.

They hailed a cab and dropped Mitsuha off at her house.

Her family's two-story home was lit up like every light inside was on, as if electricity bills didn't exist.

He hesitated, wondering if he should go in and say hi, but Mitsuha quickly pushed him back into the taxi.

"Go on, get going! If my dad sees you again, he'll probably lecture you all night," she teased, waving him off with a bright smile.

"Alright, I'll see you soon," Kyousuke said easily.

After all, there were still a few things waiting for him at home.

When Miyamizu Toshiki opened the door, he only caught a glimpse of the red tail lights and part of the cab disappearing around the corner.

"Why didn't you let that boy come in for a bit?" he grumbled.

Of course, he'd already heard from his younger daughter where his older one had gone—and with whom.

"Haha, well, with you scowling like that, Dad, I'm sure Kyousuke wouldn't dare," Mitsuha said, smiling broadly as she brushed off his suspicion.

"Hmph. What a wimp…" Toshiki snorted.

Inside, Yotsuba came running up, calling out:

"Big sis, where's the snack Hojou promised me?"

"It's almost bedtime! You can have it tomorrow," Mitsuha said, holding the bag high over her head.

"Aww, no fair!"

———————————————————————

Meanwhile, back at Kyousuke's place—still a ways from his dorm—he spotted the lights blazing from his own house.

He'd joked about the Miyamizu household leaving all their lights on, but now he saw his family had done the same.

And in that moment, he realized what those bright windows really meant.

Those lights meant there were people who cared about him, waiting for him to come home.

Mitsuha had them; so did he.

Even though Eriri and Utaha-senpai had said they'd wait for him, he could see from the windows that nobody had gone to sleep yet.

They were all still up, waiting.

He paid the taxi driver, stepped through the gate, and opened the door.

"I'm home," he called out.

"Welcome back~" A sultry, teasing voice answered, like a fingertip lightly scratching his palm.

"You finally decided to come back!" came another voice—Eriri's, as sharp as ever, like she'd been ready to drag him home with a club if she'd had to.

"I brought the midnight snacks I promised!" Kyousuke said, slipping off his shoes.

He didn't care if Eriri was glaring at him or not—he held up the bag with a triumphant grin.

In the living room, Kasumigaoka Utaha was sprawled out on the couch nearest the kitchen, wearing a pale blue nightdress.

Her long, shapely legs were bare—no black stockings tonight, so she must have already showered.

"Disappointed you didn't get to see the stockings, Kyousuke-kun~~?" she purred.

Utaha's wine-red eyes were half-lidded with fatigue, a faint, mischievous glow in them.

Her tone was languid and irresistibly alluring.

"You've worked hard. Go get some rest," Kyousuke said softly, feeling a surge of tenderness at the sight of her tired but beautiful face.

"I've come down with a dreadful disease—I can't let my feet touch the floor~~" Utaha lifted her arms toward him, her meaning clear.

Kyousuke glanced over at the other couch.

Eriri was perched there cross-legged in red-and-blue cartoon pajamas, her golden hair cascading loosely over her shoulders.

She clenched her jaw at Utaha's words and shot a scathing glare at those pale, exposed legs, then huffed and turned her head away, uncharacteristically silent.

Seeing his chance, Kyousuke quickly set the bag down on the counter, then leaned over the couch and slid his arms beneath Utaha's soft body—one arm behind her back, the other under her knees.

With a firm motion, he lifted the beautiful girl into his arms.

Utaha wrapped her arms around his neck, her wine-red eyes fixed on him, their corners tilting up ever so slightly. Her expression was pure temptation.

Holding her warm, curvy body, the desire that Mitsuha had already stirred in him flared right back to life.

Kyousuke quickly hoisted Utaha a little higher in his arms, making her let out a soft, delighted gasp, followed by a low, musical laugh.

"Hmph!!"

Eriri's icy glare felt like needles, spurring Kyousuke to hurry up the stairs.

He gently set Utaha down on the bed like a precious treasure and pulled the covers over her.

"Goodnight, Utaha-senpai," he whispered, leaning in close to her beautiful face.

Just as he was about to straighten up, she caught him by the neck again.

"Kyousuke, you've got nail marks on your chest~" she said with a playful smile, her sleepy expression nowhere to be seen now.

Her words took him completely off guard.

He looked down—and sure enough, there were faint red crescent-shaped marks.

More than one.

"Heh… hehehe…" All he could do was chuckle sheepishly.

Then her hands suddenly tightened around his neck, and he lost his balance, tumbling down on top of her.

He found himself lying right against her soft, warm body.

"Utaha, I—" he started, but her lips cut him off before he could say another word.

Mitsuha's kisses were always soft and sweet, but Utaha's… Utaha's kiss was something else entirely.

He didn't even have time to sort through the sensations—her teeth gave a teasing bite, and then her soft, wet tongue darted across his lips like a thief before retreating just as quickly.

Her arms slid away, leaving him momentarily breathless.

Utaha licked her upper lip slowly, then pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

"Good~ night~~ Kyousuke-kun~~" she purred.

To Kyousuke, the girl lying in that bed didn't seem like Kasumigaoka Utaha anymore—she was a succubus straight from hell, and she was all his.

From her voice to her gaze, every inch of her radiated a dangerous, irresistible charm.

"Don't forget—Sawamura's still waiting for you," she added with a wicked little smile.

'You'd remember that now?' Kyousuke thought, unable to help a wry smile.

He let his gaze linger for a moment on her plump, red lips before murmuring a soft "Goodnight," switching off the light, and closing the door behind him.

'Whew…'

Leaning against the door, he let out a long breath.

Good thing it had been Utaha.

If it had been Eriri, she might've burst into tears right then and there…

He pulled out a tissue to wipe his mouth, straightened his clothes, and headed back downstairs.

"That woman's asleep, isn't she? Honestly, if she can't stay up late, she shouldn't even try. She just keeps pushing herself for no reason—it's so annoying."

Before he could even get a word out, Eriri was already talking a mile a minute, munching on snacks like a machine gun spitting out words.

And in that moment, Kyousuke understood why Eriri had so casually let him carry Utaha-senpai to bed.

This sweet, soft-hearted idiot had fallen for the same old trick yet again…

"She fell asleep the moment she hit the bed," he replied honestly. "She's out cold."

"I was going to teach you how to dance tonight, you know. You missed out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you underling!" Eriri declared, sitting cross-legged on the sofa and lifting her chin proudly.

A little smudge of brown sauce clung to her cheek, making her look almost too cute for her own good.

"Yes, yes, it's all my fault. Please, Supervisor-sama, grant me another chance," he said, sitting down next to her and grabbing one of the snacks he'd made earlier.

"Let's be clear—I'm not worried about you embarrassing yourself on stage," she said, cheeks puffed out as she spoke around her mouthful.

"I just don't want you wasting so much time on this that it ends up messing with the art exhibit."

"Thank you, Supervisor-sama, for your boundless mercy~" he teased, gently wiping the sauce from the corner of her mouth with a napkin

———————————————————————

Daily Uploads!

Unlock bonus chapters by reaching specific milestones with [Power Stone] votes!

Go to p-atreon.com/InsomniaTL to access more than 50 advanced chapters.