She shook her head. Then nodded. Then started crying.
She didn’t answer at first. Then, softly: “My mom’s in the hospital. She collapsed this morning.” Tsugou no Yoi Sexfriend
It was the kind of arrangement that thrived on convenience. Akira called it “Tsugou no Yoi Sexfriend”—the convenient sex friend. No strings, no late-night texts about feelings, no awkward mornings after. Just two people who understood that life was busy, and sometimes, you simply needed someone to help you unwind. She shook her head
But one Thursday, Rina broke the pattern. She was already there when he arrived—curled up on the sofa, still in her work blazer, staring at the rain-streaked window. Her eyes were red. She didn’t answer at first
They met every other Thursday, like clockwork. Rina would text him a simple pineapple emoji, which meant her place was free, and Akira would reply with a thumbs-up. She’d leave the key under the third potted plant, and he’d let himself in after his last client meeting. No words wasted. No expectations.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
Akira froze. This wasn’t in the script. He wasn’t supposed to know her mom’s name, let alone her medical history. He stood there, useless, until something unfamiliar rose in his chest—not lust, but a clumsy tenderness.