You were just minding your little business. Peacefully.

Peacefully. Innocently. Like the good little angel you absolutely were not.

Innocently basking in the glory of Shouma’s face⎯as if the moles scattered across his skin were priceless relics in a museum you snuck into just to drool over.

Curled up under the blankets, warm and sleepy, brain half-fried from a dream you couldn’t remember. but Shouma’s face? Oh, you remembered that just fine. You’d woken up to it. Sunlight slashing through the blinds, golden on his skin, those messy strands of hair falling in his eyes like he paid someone to style them perfect.

Those moles? Perfection. Art. Forehead-kiss-worthy blessings straight from the gods.

Scattered across his face like constellations you wanted to trace with your mouth. Priceless little celestial stamps that made you want to grab a sharpie and start circling them with “property of me” in obnoxious bubble letters.

You even had nicknames for them.

The double ones under his right eye? The Gemini Twins. That single dot on his left cheek? Cinderella. Always peeking out shyly when he turned to the side.

You’d heard somewhere that moles appeared where your past lover from your past life kissed you the most.

And if that was true? Bless that past-life bitch.

Because now, in this life, you got to devour those moles like dessert. Like gourmet chocolate truffles hand-placed on the sinfully sculpted plate that was his hot-ass face. Each one just asking to be kissed, licked, bitten⎯or all three in that order.

But ever since you told Shouma about that cute, romantic little ‘past lovers’ theory, he had beef with it.