Chapter 8 - The Hairline Breath
One late afternoon, I step out of the kitchen carrying a light lunch for Asami: a smoked turkey-ham sandwich, some chips, and fruit punch.
He's sitting in the chair, gazing up at the ceiling, eyes slowly drifting shut as he listens to the sounds around the house. I set the tray beside him so he can eat whenever he feels hungry. But when I look at his face… something's off. He looks like he's in pain. A hangover, maybe?
"I don't think you're okay," I say, my voice tighter with worry than I mean it to be.
"I'll bring you a Tylenol. And at least eat something first—maybe it'll help your hangover." I try to hide the concern on my face.
"I don't have a hangover. Or any headache," Asami replies.
"This isn't the first time I've been like this, so don't bother."
His tone is cold, but not harsh. Something is troubling him—something that makes him look so solemn. I wonder what it is.
"It's just that I'm not in the mood right now. And… something similar happened to me years ago. I don't want to talk about it either. I'm sorry," Asami adds just as I'm about to leave his study room.
"Okay," I say quietly.
I glance back at him before closing the door. His expression is mournful, and it makes me feel antsy. I want to comfort him—to offer my ears, my shoulder, anything he might need. I… I wish I could. But I can't.
Because I know the truth. Before he came back here, he spent most of his life abroad. There's no way he doesn't have a girlfriend out there somewhere. And I'm not his boyfriend—not even his best friend.
Just before I can fully shut the door, Asami grabs my hand. I freeze. He looks up at me and says, softly but firmly,
"Stay here. Stay with me."
He pulls me back from the doorway and guides me down into the seat beside him. Before I can react, he rests his head on my shoulder.
My heart kicks hard, quickening before I can stop it. I can't explain the way my chest tightens, the way my breathing falters. We're just sitting together, but Asami's head is on my shoulder—his weight, his warmth—too much, too close.
Oh my god. My heart hammers wildly, completely out of control. I try to steady myself—he's just sitting beside me. That's all. Nothing more.
Asami's head is already on my shoulder when I glance down at him. I'm mesmerized by his long eyelashes, the sharp line of his nose—so perfect I almost want to bite it—and his lips, which pull at me, tempting me to lean in and kiss him right now.
Then I feel him giggle. When I turn my head, he's smiling at me… clearly amused. He must notice how flustered I am, how uneasy, because he suddenly acts a little childish about it.
Without warning, Asami reclines fully across my legs, settling in as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Can I borrow your lap?" he asks. "Just for a moment. My neck hurts."
He looks up at me—and before I can even answer, he rests his head on my lap.
"A-ah, u-umm… o-okay. B-but I still have something to do. I'll wake you up later," I manage to say. My face burns hot, and I can hear the stammer in my own voice.
I don't move an inch. I'm stiff like a stone statue, terrified that even the slightest shift might disturb him.
What if I wake him? What if he lifts his head?
Asami lies stretched across my legs, and all I can think about is how badly I want to touch his hair—just slide my fingers through it, study his face while he rests.
My gaze drifts downward to him. He looks like he's asleep… I think.
"I think it feels good when someone strokes my hair. It puts me to sleep," Asami says suddenly, his voice low as he sprawls across my legs, staring straight up at me
My breath snags for a moment. His head is warm and heavy against me, his hair brushing softly against my thigh. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I'm certain the redness climbs all the way to my ears.
Why would he say something like that? Why would he—?
I fumble for words, but nothing comes out. My lips part, then close again, my chest tightening with every heartbeat pounding too loudly in my ears.
Asami's lips curl into that mischievous smile.
"What's wrong? You're looking down at me like I just confessed a crime. Did I say something scandalous?"
Then he laughs. A bright, unrestrained sound that shakes through me where He settles his head against my thighs.
"Hahaha! I'm sorry, I really am sorry," he says—though the glint in his eyes betrays him. He's not sorry at all.
I swallow hard. His laughter vibrates against me, heat seeping through my clothes into my skin, leaving me pinned—helpless.
Does he know?
Does he feel what this does to me?
Or is this just another joke to him?
I grip the throw pillow in my hands and press it lightly against his head in mock annoyance.
"Don't behave like a child. If you're tired, then just… take your nap already."
The words come out sharper than I intend, but it's the only shield I have.
His hair shifts against my lap as he tilts his head, his eyes half-lidded but still watching me closely. Too closely. His presence presses in on me, making the air feel heavy—hard to breathe.
"You say that," he murmurs, his voice softer now, teasing at the edges, "but you don't push me away."
Asami remains draped over me, entirely too comfortable… far too comfortable, his head resting against me as if my thigh is his personal pillow. His thumb twitches near his chest—a small, nervous motion that distracts me more than it should. He doesn't speak. He just stares up at me, like he's weighing words he isn't ready to share.
My throat tightens. I want to look anywhere but into those eyes, but he leaves me no escape. The study room suddenly feels too small, too warm, the room swallowing every sound until only the tension between us remains.
The weight of him, his steady gaze, the thick quiet between us—it all presses in, making the study feel unbearably small. My fingers twitch against the fabric of the pillow under his head.
Should I push him off? But if I do… would that make everything worse? Obvious?
I clear my throat. "If you've got something to say, just say it already."
His mouth curves—not into his usual wide grin, but into something quieter, softer. I hate the way it makes my chest tighten.
"You're so bossy, you know that?" he murmurs, eyes half-lidded but fixed on mine.
My heart skips. "S-shut up. You're the one making a mess of things, lying here like—like I'm some futon."
He chuckles. The sound vibrates against my leg, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting. Why does even his laugh feel like it's inside me?
"You make a pretty good futon," he says lazily. "Firm enough to hold me, soft enough that I don't mind staying like this all night."
"All night?!"
The words burst out louder than I intend, echoing off the bookshelves. His smile deepens instantly—playful, triumphant.
"Oh? Did I hear panic in that voice, Ichinose?" He tilts his head slightly, his hair brushing against my thigh. The strands tickle, sending a shiver through me that I desperately try to ignore.
"Or maybe… excitement?" he adds.
I shove the throw pillow a little harder beneath his head, pretending I'm annoyed.
"You're impossible. Just close your eyes and nap already."
"Mmm. Only if you stroke my hair," he says, half-laughing.
His teasing sinks deep. He's always like this—playful, gentle, too kind. I don't want him saying things like that. It makes it too hard to breathe. I glare down at him, trying to summon irritation.
"If you don't stop talking nonsense, I really will call the maids in here."
He grins wider. "Ah, but then they'll see me lying on your lap like this. What would they think, hmm?"
Heat floods my ears. Damn it—he's right. "Y-you—!"
"Cute," he interrupts. "They'd think you're cute when you're flustered."
I freeze. My breath catches, stuck in my throat. He has to be joking. He has to be.
"You think too highly of yourself," I mutter, forcing my gaze away—to the stack of books on the coffee table. "No one's thinking that."
But even as I say it, I can feel his gaze burning into me. Steady. Too steady. Like he's peeling me apart layer by layer.
The room seems to shrink around us. The smell of old paper and polished wood mixes with the faint warmth of his cologne. I hadn't noticed it until now—but it's there, soft and distracting, clinging to me because he's pressed so close.
My pulse hammers faster. This is ridiculous. Why am I reacting like this? It's just Asami being Asami. He always teases me. I always laugh. So why does it feel different this time?
His hand lifts lazily, brushing the fabric of my sleeve.
Just a light touch. Nothing more—yet it sends a spark racing up my arm. I nearly flinch.
"Asami—"
"Yes?" His voice is low. Smooth. Too smooth, damn it. He doesn't move his head from my lap, doesn't look away.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My throat is dry.
He smirks faintly, watching me struggle. "That's what I thought."
"Y-you're unbearable," I manage, my voice cracking.
"Maybe. But you don't push me away."
The air between us grows tense, stretched thin. I should shove him off. I should stand and walk out. But I don't. I stay. And worse—I let him stay like this.
He rolls gently onto his side, easing closer without a word. The motion forces me to straighten my back, my whole body tightening. My hand hovers awkwardly in the air—not sure where to rest, not sure if I even dare touch him.
His eyes flick up, catching mine. For a moment, everything stops.
My chest.
My thoughts.
Even the faint ticking of the clock on the wall fades, until there's only him—his head in my lap, his gaze holding me in place, his breath warm and far too close.
"Asami—" I try again, softer this time. His name slips out like a plea.
He shifts once more, inching upward, just enough to shrink the space between us. My breathing turns uneven as his face inches closer…closer… until his forehead brushes against my stomach and heat spreads through me in a dizzying wave.
Then he tilts his head back—slow, deliberate. My heart lurches into my throat. His face rises toward mine, impossibly close.
His lips are almost—
I hold my breath. Frozen. Waiting.
But he stops. A hair's breadth away. So close I can feel the ghost of his breath against my mouth, the faint brush of warmth. My lips tingle, aching with the nearness, but he doesn't close the distance.
Instead, his eyes lift to mine, and that teasing smile curves across his lips—playful, daring.
"See?" he whispers.
"You didn't stop me," Asami adds.
My whole body trembles. I want to speak, to deny, to push him away—but nothing comes out. The space between us crackles, heavy with everything unspoken, everything I can't admit.
Then, just as suddenly, he leans back down onto my lap, eyes closing as if nothing at all happened.
"Mm. Comfortable. Don't move, okay?"
I exhale unsteadily, not realizing I'd been holding my breath at all. My chest is tight, my lips burning from the almost that never happened.
The clock ticks on. The study stays silent.
But inside me, nothing is calm. Nothing at all.
To be continued…