The soil clung to my hands like it never wanted to let go. I pressed another rosebush into the ground, patting it firm, and leaned back on my heels to breathe.
The garden stretched before me in colors I had forced from the earth—roses like blood and fire, tulips bold as flags, forget-me-nots so small they could almost be overlooked. I made them impossible to ignore. They were proof I could make something beautiful, even if no one ever noticed me.
But I noticed. And worse—I wanted him to notice.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my wrist, smearing dirt across my skin, and glanced toward the veranda. He was there. Of course he was there.
Asami sat with a book resting against his chest, eyes closed as though even reading had grown beneath him. His hair caught the light, his mouth slightly parted, the sort of sight you'd expect from a painting, not real life.
My stomach turned sharp. I hated that my whole body lit up like the sky had struck me, just because he was breathing in my direction.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, yanking a weed with more force than necessary. "Focus. Flowers, not… him."
But my gaze betrayed me again, dragging back to him. My throat tightened. What if those arms held me? What if that chest pressed against mine? I snapped my eyes away, ashamed, a hot flush crawling across my face. These thoughts weren't just dangerous—they were suicide. I was nothing but a servant, and he was—
"Ichinose!" His voice cracked through my thoughts. "Careful!"
My foot had landed wrong on the bricks. I stumbled forward, bracing for impact, when a hand seized my shoulder. Strong. Firm. Warm.
I froze. My heart ricocheted inside my chest like a trapped bird. His grip steadied me, his body close enough that the heat of him sank straight through my shirt. I couldn't breathe. My face burned. My body betrayed me completely.
"Lost in thought?" he asked, voice quieter now. His hand lingered longer than it should have. Too long.
I swallowed; words stuck in my throat. Finally, I forced something out. "Y-yes. I mean—no. I was just—" I lowered my head quickly. "Thank you, Master Asami. I didn't see the bricks."
"Mm." His reply was simple, but I could feel his eyes on me, weighing me, peeling me open. "Be careful. You're always working too hard. I'd rather not see you injured because you can't keep your mind in one place."
My chest tightened painfully. His words shouldn't have mattered, but they did. They mattered too much.
"Maybe if…" I forced myself to speak, clinging to anything that wasn't silent. "If I planted more flowers along this path, the breeze might carry their scent when you rest here. It could make your breaks more refreshing." I kept my gaze down, ashamed of how desperate my voice sounded.
He chuckled softly, almost fondly. "You really think of everything."
The sound of it nearly knocked me off my feet. I bent down quickly to my tools, pretending to fuss with them just to escape his gaze. But I felt him watching me still, and every second under that weight was unbearable.
—
Dusk bled into the sky by the time I finished. My body screamed with exhaustion, and all I wanted was to vanish into the night. I grabbed my bag and turned down the hall, head low—only to run right into him again.
"It's dark," he said, like it was fact, not opinion. "Buses won't pass now. Stay here tonight."
I blinked at him, startled. "That's not necessary—"
"Aisha," he called past me, ignoring my protest. "Prepare a guest room on the second floor. And dinner."
The housekeeper bowed and hurried off. I stood frozen, my mouth open like a fool. He turned back to me, his expression unreadable.
"It's settled," he said. "Come. Join me for a smoke while we wait."
The balcony air was cooler, brushing against my sweat-streaked skin. Asami leaned back in his chair, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. The smoke curled upward, lazy and confident, like him. He offered me the pack.
I shook my head. "I don't really—"
"Try one," he said, his tone calm but carrying something that brooked no refusal.
"I don't usually smoke," I muttered, hesitant, but my fingers reached anyway, trembling as I took one. "It's… not good for the lungs. Or the plants."
"Then why are you holding it now?" His lips curved faintly, teasing. "Curious? Or just trying to impress me?"
"I—neither!" The words spilled out too fast, too sharp. My throat tightened. "I just—thought it would be rude to refuse."
"Polite, then," he murmured, leaning forward. "Good. Hold still."
Before I could ask what he meant, his hand gripped the back of my neck. My body went rigid. He leaned in, his face a breath away, and pressed the glowing tip of his cigarette against mine. Fire caught, smoke flared, and for one endless heartbeat I was certain my heart had stopped entirely.
His thumb stroked my nape once, absent, almost careless—but it seared me to the bone. My lips parted around the cigarette, drawing smoke because I didn't know what else to do. The heat of him, the closeness, the way his eyes flicked down to my mouth—it unraveled me completely.
"You're shaking," he said softly.
"No," I lied instantly, my voice breaking. "It's just… the cold air."
"There's no wind tonight," he countered, almost amused.
I turned away, blowing smoke fast and hard, desperate to hide my face in the haze. "Master Asami, I… was thinking. About the entrance. Roses. Red, pink, maybe magenta. Their scent could greet you whenever you came back." My words tumbled over each other, a flimsy shield.
"Always flowers with you," he said. His tone wasn't mocking—it was gentler, like he saw through me. "Never about yourself. Why is that, Ichinose?"
"Because I…" My throat tightened. I bit back the words that wanted to burst free. Because if I talked about myself, you'd know I want you. You'd know I'm ruined. "Because the garden matters. That's all."
"Is it?" His voice was low now, steady. His eyes held me with unbearable intensity. "Or are you hiding something else?"
My chest caved. I couldn't look at him, couldn't endure it. My cigarette shook between my fingers, ash spilling onto the balcony tiles. "I'm not hiding anything." The lie scratched my throat raw.
"You are," he said simply, like it was fact. He leaned back again, exhaling smoke into the night. "One day you'll tell me."
I nearly choked. My pulse raced so violently I thought he'd hear it. My hands curled into fists against my knees, desperate anchors against the storm inside me.
"Tell you what?" I asked, my voice faint.
"That secret you bury in your chest." His eyes narrowed slightly. "The one that makes you tremble when I'm this close."
My lungs seized. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" His tone sharpened, cutting clean. "Then why can't you look me in the eye right now?"
I forced my gaze up for a second. His stare pinned me like a knife. I looked away instantly. "Because… because you make it difficult."
"Difficult?" he echoed, leaning forward again. "For me? Or for you?"
"For me," I whispered, the truth slipping free before I could strangle it.
He exhaled smoke slowly, lips curling at the edges. "Then I'll take that as a compliment."
I felt myself break apart in silence. Every word he spoke pressed closer to the thing I swore I'd never confess.
"Do you always hide behind flowers?" he asked suddenly.
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You talk about roses, tulips, scents in the wind… but never about what you want." He tilted his head, smoke curling around his face. "If I asked you what you truly desired, what would you say?"
My breath stuttered. "I… I'd say I want the garden to flourish. To make you proud."
His eyes softened, though his voice stayed sharp. "A careful answer. But not an honest one."
The silence stretched until Aisha's voice broke it. "Master Asami, dinner is ready. Shall I add dessert?"
"Yes," he said smoothly, as if nothing had passed between us. "That will be perfect."
"Yes, Master." Aisha bowed and left.
Asami rose, brushing ash from his fingers. His face was calm, untouched. Mine felt like it was burning away. "Come. Let's eat."
I forced a laugh, brittle. "Yes. I'm… hungry." But my hunger had nothing to do with food.
I followed him back into the villa, shame gnawing at me, desire clawing at my chest. I hated myself for it, hated the raw want that refused to die. To confess would be impossible. To silence it forever? Just as impossible.
As we walked, words piled in my throat—confessions that would never reach air. I want you. I can't have you. I'd give anything if you'd see me. Please don't see me. My chest ached with all I swallowed down. My steps dragged behind him, heavy with the weight of every word I didn't speak.
And still, another voice whispered, darker, hungrier: What if he already knows? What if he's waiting for me to break? The thought terrified me. It thrilled me. It left me raw, trembling in his shadow.
So I carried it in silence, each step searing me deeper. His shadow stretched before me, and I trailed after, marked and burning, a servant chained by a longing I could never escape.
---
To be continued…