The elevator in my building hums quietly as it carries me down, and I stand there with my bag over one shoulder, observing my reflection like it might tell me how to act normal.
It doesn't.
The weekend is still on me in manners I can't smooth down. My collar sits right. My hair is fine. I checked the blemish on my neck twice before leaving and convinced myself it wasn't obvious unless someone was really looking. That should have been enough to settle me.
It wasn't.
He's downstairs.
That fact has been following me since I locked my apartment door.
Kai went home Sunday night, which should have made this morning feel normal, right? Like, there's an equation somewhere: subtract the boy, add back your routine, and boom—ordinary Monday.
But it's worse. Stupidly, it's worse. I keep trying to tell myself it doesn't matter, that I'm being dramatic, but it gets tangled up inside me until I'm ready to crawl out of my own skin. I know how this sounds. I know I should just act normally. Whatever that means.
Before he left, he said what time he'd be outside Monday, voice all calm, like it's nothing, like he isn't quietly unspooling me just by saying it out loud. Sometimes I want to grab him and say, 'Do you even realise what you're doing to me?'
And then he kissed me goodbye. I can't stop thinking about it, like it altered my brain chemistry.
The kiss wasn't enough to satisfy anything, a goodbye kiss which felt more like a promise. Just enough to keep the whole night humming under my skin after he was gone.
The elevator shudders faintly as it slows, and I look away from my reflection before the doors open. This morning should feel like returning to lectures, missed coursework, Yuujin asking too many questions, soccer, and pretending my life is still made up of separate compartments.
Instead, all I can think about is Kai waiting in the car, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
The doors slide open.
The alley beside the building is narrow and half in shadow, the kind of place that smells like old rain and whatever the neighbours threw out last night. Kai's car is already there, parked like it belongs, too shiny and expensive for the cracked concrete and overflowing bins. He's leaning against it, arms folded, looking so put together it's almost stupid. Like—who looks that collected at this hour? It pisses me off a little, how easy he makes it look, like showing up for me is just something he does between errands.
Then he sees me and straightens.
No hesitation. No awkward pause. He just reaches for the passenger door and opens it, like this is obvious.
Something warm and inconvenient stirs in my chest, like a secret I almost want him to discover. I hate how much I want to belong to him right now, how just having him here feels like he's quietly claiming me.
"Morning," Kai says.
It's only one word, but his voice is rougher than usual, low in a way that makes it sound less like a greeting and more like he's been thinking about me already. I hate how quickly it gets under my skin. I hate that for half a second, I can't think of anything to say back that doesn't sound too soft.
So, naturally, I go for the opposite.
"You're weird," I mutter.
Kai's mouth shifts at one corner. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make my face feel warmer than it should this early.
"Probably," he says.
That throws me off just enough that I stop in front of the open door without immediately getting in. He's close, close enough that I can catch the clean scent of his cologne under the morning air, close enough that the memory of the weekend presses up under my skin all over again. I'm suddenly aware—painfully so—of the mark on my neck, and the way it feels less like a blemish and more like a brand. It's embarrassing how much that thought thrills me.
Kai glances at me once, quick and precise, taking in my face, my bag, the way I'm standing there like I forgot how mornings work.
Then, calmly, "Get in, Anri."
There's no edge to it. That somehow makes it worse.
I duck into the passenger seat before my body can keep embarrassing me in public. The inside of the car is cool and clean, carrying the same delicate scent that always makes it feel too much like him. There's already a bottle of water sitting in the cup holder on my side.
I stare at it for a second, then at him as he closes the door, watching the casual way he moves like he's already certain of his place here—of his place with me. It's somehow tender, in a way that feels almost dangerous: knowing he's thought about what I might need before I've even asked.
"You're seriously impossible," I say through the glass, mostly to myself.
Kai rounds the front of the car like he didn't hear me, which means he definitely did.
He slides into the driver's seat a second later, and the whole car changes around him.
It's ridiculous how that happens. The dashboard, the clean lines, the quiet hum when he starts the engine—it's all the same. But as soon as he's behind the wheel, it stops feeling like just a car and turns into his space. Controlled. Ordered. I'm only here because he decided I could be.
I hate that I notice things like that.
He shuts the door, fastens his seatbelt, then glances at me before pulling out of the alley.
"Seatbelt," he says.
I stare at him.
He waits.
I don't know what I expect. A smile, maybe. A little trace of one of those smug looks that says: 'I know exactly what I'm doing to you.' But Kai's face is mostly neutral. He's not teasing. He's just sitting there, one hand resting on the wheel, waiting for me to do the obvious thing, like he has all morning to waste on my stubbornness.
The belt catches for a second when I pull it too quickly. I fumble with it, annoyed, aware of Kai's silence in the seat beside me. The stupid thing twists in my hand. Before I can curse at it properly, Kai reaches over.
His hand closes over the belt, steady and sure, and for one useless second, I forget how to breathe. He doesn't look at me while he fixes it. His gaze stays forward, expression impassive, like this isn't a loaded thing at all, like he isn't leaning into my space first thing on a Monday morning while I'm still trying not to think about how his mouth felt on mine.
There's a click.
"Thanks," I mutter.
Kai settles back into his own space again. "You're welcome."
The car eases out into the street. Buildings slide by in that grey-blue morning light that makes everything look slightly unfinished. People are already moving, walking too fast, coffee cups in hand, headphones in, lives apparently continuing without the decency to pause just because mine feels different now.
I sit there with my bag on my lap, trying not to be too aware of him.
It doesn't work.
I'm aware of the way his sleeve pulls slightly at the wrist when he turns the wheel. The shape of his hand. The quiet efficiency of his checking mirrors, changing lanes, not wasting movement.
Even the silence feels different now. Before, these rides were tense, but I could pretend it was just because Kai made everything feel sharper. Now I know better. Just being in the same space as him feels too intimate for this early in the morning.
The bottle of water in the cup holder keeps catching my eye.
"Drink," he says, not looking at me.
I let out a quiet laugh that has no humour in it. "Do you have any settings besides bossy?"
Kai keeps his attention on the road. "No."
That should annoy me more than it does. Instead, it makes something warm uncurl under my ribs, which is embarrassing enough that I reach for the water just so I don't have to answer him.
The plastic crackles quietly in my hand when I open it. I take a sip. The water is cold, colder than the one from my desk Saturday morning, and it pulls me a little more firmly into myself.
Kai glances over briefly. Just enough to confirm I actually did it.
My reflection flashes lightly in the side window every now and then, pale and blurry enough that I can avoid looking too closely. I'm grateful for that, because if I catch sight of the mark on my neck now, I'll probably combust on the spot.
The thought makes my face warm anyway.
"You're blushing," he says.
I nearly choke on the water. "Can you not say things like that?"
His hand tightens on the wheel for half a second, almost imperceptibly. "Things like what?"
"Anything that sounds…" I trail off because I don't have a word for it that won't make it worse.
Kai glances at me then, properly this time. There's nothing openly smug in his face, but there's a quiet awareness there that makes me want to sink through the seat.
"Like what?" he asks again.
I look away first. "You know."
"I probably do," Kai says.
The answer sits between us, not quite teasing, not quite serious. It would almost be easier if he were one or the other. The fact that he's both at once is what makes him impossible.
I take another sip of water just to have something to do.
For a minute, neither of us says anything. The drone of the engine fills the space. A song plays softly from the speakers, low enough that it feels less like music and more like another layer of morning. I don't even know when he turned it on. Or maybe it was always there, and I just hadn't noticed because I was too busy noticing him.
That thought is so irritatingly true that I almost laugh.
Kai glances over again. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You smiled."
"I didn't."
"You did."
I turn to him, offended on instinct. "Why are you even looking at me that much while you're driving?"
Kai's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes does. A tiny shift. A sharpened kind of stillness.
"You don't trust my driving? I'm not going to let anything happen to you in my car," he says.
My mouth goes dry.
It's such a Kai answer. Practical on the surface. Protective under it. Possessive if I look too closely, which of course I do, because apparently I enjoy making my own life harder.
I stare ahead again, my grasp tightening slightly on the bottle.
The traffic light turns red, and Kai slows to a stop. Sunrise light slips through the windshield in pale stripes, cutting across his hands, his sleeve, the line of his jaw. Close like this, with nowhere to go and too much memory in my body, it's hard not to think about the weekend. About him leaving. About the fact that he still came back this morning at the exact time he said he would, like promises are just logistics to him and not the kind of thing that could ruin a person.
One of the things messing with me most is how natural he's making this.
Not the kiss. This.
The water. The car. The waiting outside to pick me up felt like a given.
It would have been easier if he'd made it dramatic. Easier if there were flowers or awkwardness or some stupid confession I could roll my eyes at. But Kai doesn't do things that way. He does this quiet, terrifying thing where he makes room for himself in my life and acts like it was always meant to be there.
The light changes.
We start moving again.
I twist the cap back onto the bottle and set it down carefully. My fingers rest there for a second, then I pull my hand back into my lap.
"Kai," I say.
He makes a quiet sound to show he's listening.
"Is this," I begin, and then immediately hate myself because I sound like I'm about to ask a question I don't actually have the courage to finish. I start over. "Are you going to keep doing this?"
Kai doesn't answer right away. He changes lanes, checks the mirror, and keeps one hand loose on the wheel.
"Driving you?" he asks.
I nod, then realise he may not see it. "Yeah."
"If your ankle needs it."
That should make the answer feel smaller. Temporary. Sensible.
I try to seem casual. "It's not that bad."
"I know."
The words come too quickly, too easily, like he's been paying attention in a way that makes my skin go hot all over again.
I glance at him. "Then why are you acting like I'm made of glass?"
Kai finally looks at me, just for a second.
"You're not," he says.
Something in the way he says it makes my heart skip a beat. Not fragile. Not breakable. Just… worth monitoring.
His gaze returns to the road.
"You're not walking back and forth if I can avoid it," he adds. "It's inefficient, and I know you hate taking the train."
There it is. The logistics. The excuse. The thing that makes it sound reasonable enough that I can't call it what it actually feels like.
Kai opens his mouth again as if he's about to say something, but I can see him stop himself.
"Say it," slips out of me.
He's actually hesitating. It's so uncharacteristic of him; he's always so sure of himself. As if he's trying to choose between logistics and the truth.
"I don't like the thought of you walking back by yourself," It's almost dangerous how calm he sounds. "And…I don't like other people noticing you when you're tired."
I want to get defensive and tell him I'm not someone who needs to be managed. I don't need it. I want it.
I just don't know if it means the same thing to him as it does to me. He watches me, he manages me, he notices. I could just be his little project to feel possessive over. It scares me that I want it to be so much more than that.
We're getting closer to campus now. I can tell by the buildings, the wider roads, the familiar route my body recognises before my brain catches up. The thought should make me feel normal. Instead, there's this strange resistance in me, this quiet unwillingness to let the ride end because once we get there, everything has to look ordinary again.
Pretending my life hasn't repositioned itself around one person over the course of a weekend.
Is he staying now? That means he can leave. It was different when he was temporary. I don't need him—I'd notice if he was gone. I hate him—I don't. He probably doesn't feel the same. I don't want him to leave—please don't leave.
I look out the window so Kai won't see that thought on my face.
Too late.
"You're quiet," he says.
"You say that like it's suspicious."
"It is."
I let out a breath through my nose. "Maybe I'm just not a morning person."
Kai's mouth shifts, barely. "I know."
And there it is again. That impossible calm. That assumption of knowledge. Like I've already been studied and decided. Like my moods are just another thing he keeps track of.
Kai reaches over and closes his fingers around my hand, resting idly on my lap, then one firm squeeze, warm and deliberate, before he lets go. I don't even want to start reading into that either. Maybe he's just being nice because of what happened with Akio. Maybe that's all this is. But my body still betrays me with warmth from his touch; it reminds me of how gentle he was on Saturday, even when he was so… unmoored, yet still chose restraint.
—
By the time I'm in my aesthetics lecture, my hand still remembers him.
The lecture hall is way too bright, too ordinary. Students talking over each other, the projector already throwing up the first slide like I'm supposed to care about it more than the fact that Kai Takato squeezed my hand as if that isn't enough to ruin a person's concentration for the entire day, and I'm supposed to just sit here, like everyone else and be normal about it.
This feels so dangerous.
It was just a weekend. That's it. We kissed. We…
I shouldn't be feeling this tethered to him. This…attached.
No.
There's no fucking way.
I pull my laptop out of my bag and attempt to at least try to look like I have my shit together. I can't just sit here and keep this feeling contained, and I don't even know what this feeling is.
It's like being terrified and thrilled in the same breath. It's the urge to squeal like a fucking idiot because the guy you yearned to want you, actually does. The feeling is all-consuming—an explosion of nerves and euphoria whirling together inside my chest, on the verge of spilling out if I so much as blink the wrong way. One moment, I'm convinced I must be imagining it, that he couldn't possibly look at me with anything close to longing. There's a kind of panic bubbling underneath—the sort that's half fear, half exhilaration—because if this is real, if he really chooses me, then everything changes. And maybe I'm not ready, or maybe I've been ready longer than I realised. It's just so much, and I don't know what to do with any of it except pretend, for the sake of the lecture hall and everyone in it, that I'm merely another student and not someone whose entire sense of self is wobbling on the edge of something terribly wonderful.
The professor keeps talking, and I keep typing because that's what my hands are supposed to do, but the words on the screen stop meaning anything. They merge into each other. I'm here technically; my body made it to the lecture hall. The rest of me is still in Kai's car, still caught in the pressure of his hand around mine.
A soft throb stirs at my neck.
It's faint at first, easy to ignore if I want to pretend hard enough, but the more I try to focus on the lecture, the more aware of it I become. Not pain exactly. More like a pulse. A quiet, humiliating reminder sitting just under my collar. My fingers almost lift to touch the blemish before I stop myself. I don't need to make this worse by checking if it's still there. I know it's there. My body has been acting like it's wearing a secret all morning.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
The sensation cuts through everything so sharply that I nearly jolt. For one stupid second, hope rises so fast it makes me feel sick. Kai. It has to be Kai. Even though that makes no sense. Even though he dropped me off a little less than an hour ago. Even though I would hate myself a little for needing him to text me that quickly.
I slide my phone out under the desk.
Yuyu:
you in today?
I stare at the message. I knew it wouldn't be Kai, and I know I shouldn't be disappointed that my friend, who's probably spent the whole weekend worrying about me, is messaging me instead of Kai. I feel guilty because I was so lost over the weekend that I practically forgot that life exists outside of his orbit.
Ace:
yeah, I'm fucking struggling in this lecture
Yuyu:
We need to TALK
Come find me after. Courtyard.
—
When I arrive at the courtyard by the clock tower, students are already gathered, their voices climbing above the early air.
Yuujin is standing near the base of the clock tower with his arms folded, one foot tapping at the paving stones hard enough that I can see how irritated he is from halfway across the courtyard.
The second he spots me, his whole face changes.
Not relieved. Not exactly.
More like: 'there you are, you absolute disaster.'
I stop in front of him and try to look like someone who has had a perfectly normal weekend.
Yuujin stares at me for one long second.
Then, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I let out a breath. "Good morning to you, too."
"No." He points at me, as if I've personally offended him by existing. "Don't do that. Why didn't you tell me you were going to Shibuya?"
My stomach gives a small, guilty twist.
"I didn't think it would—"
"That's the problem," Yuujin cuts in. "You didn't think." He drags a hand through his hair, already looking exasperated. "Anri, who just goes to Shibuya with some older guy and doesn't tell anyone?"
I wince. "When you say it like that, it sounds bad."
Yuujin just stares at me.
"It was bad," he says flatly.
There isn't really anything to say to that. The memory of Friday night slides under my skin, not sharp enough to drag me under, just enough to make the morning air feel a little thinner.
Yuujin's expression changes when he sees something on my face. Some of the anger slips, just slightly.
"Are you okay?" he asks, quieter this time.
The question lands harder than I want it to.
I look away toward the edge of the courtyard, toward a group of students laughing over something that feels like it belongs to another planet. "I'm here," I say.
Yuujin lets out a breath through his nose like that answer annoys him and soothes him at the same time.
"Yeah," he says. "You are."
There's a spell of quiet.
Then his eyes narrow.
"Did Kai stay the night?"
Heat climbs up my face so fast it makes me feel sick.
Yuujin's mouth falls open. "Oh my God, he did."
I hate that my silence answers for me every single time.
"It wasn't—" I start and immediately realise I have no idea how to finish that sentence in a way that doesn't sound incriminating.
Yuujin throws both hands up. "No, actually, finish it. I'd love to hear what possible sentence starts with 'it wasn't' and ends with Kai Takato spending the night at your apartment."
"He stayed because I was a mess," I mutter, which is true, just not the whole truth.
Yuujin pauses.
The edge in him softens for half a second. "Okay," he says. "That part I get."
I nod, relieved for exactly one breath.
Then his eyes sharpen again.
"Wait," he says slowly. "Stayed. As in once?"
I look at him.
He looks at me.
I should lie. I know I should. I can feel the exact moment where a smarter version of me would just shut up and preserve some fragment of dignity.
Instead, I say, "Two nights."
Yuujin goes completely still.
"Two," he repeats.
I say nothing.
"Two nights…in your bed?"
I say nothing louder.
"I'm gonna explode if you don't tell me." Yuujin's voice comes out louder than before, and I almost flinch.
Several people nearby glance over. I feel myself start to burn alive.
"Keep your voice down," I hiss.
Yuujin leans in like that's going to make him quieter. It doesn't. "Kai Takato stayed at your apartment for two whole nights?"
"When you say it like that, it sounds insane."
"It is insane," Yuujin says. "That is an insane thing to reveal on a Monday morning."
I fold my arms because I need something between me and the rest of the world. "You said we needed to talk."
"Yes," Yuujin says. "I meant about Shibuya. I did not realise I was walking into whatever the hell this is."
I glare at him, but it's weak. My whole body still feels too aware of itself.
Yuujin squints at me.
Then his eyes catch on my neck.
He freezes.
The silence this time is almost impressive.
"What," he says very slowly, "is that?"
My stomach drops straight through the paving.
"What is what?" I ask, which is pathetic, because his face says he's not nearly that stupid.
Yuujin points toward my throat. "That."
I lift a hand, too late, fingertips skimming the spot just under my collar, where the skin still feels a little warm and a little wrong. A blemish, I'd told myself. Easy enough to ignore if nobody looked too closely.
Unfortunately, Yuujin has eyes.
"Oh my God," he says.
"Don't."
"Oh…my God."
"Yuujin."
He looks genuinely scandalised, which would be funny if I weren't currently living inside my own humiliation.
"You have a mark on your neck."
"Shut up! No, I don't!"
"Did Kai do that?"
I drag my hand down my face. "Can you be normal for five seconds?"
"No," Yuujin says. "Not when you show up here after being MIA for nearly a week, disappearing to Shibuya, telling me Kai stayed with you for two nights, and then standing under the clock tower with that on your neck like I'm supposed to act like this is a regular Monday."
I can't help the smile pulling around my lips. I should be in damage control mode. But all I can think is: I got what I wanted. I'm untouchable right now.
Yuujin sees my expression change and narrows his eyes. "Don't tell me you're happy about this."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
I look away because I can feel my face heating again, and I know exactly what that means from the outside.
Yuujin lets out a noise somewhere between disbelief and despair. "Anri."
"What?"
He studies me for a second longer, and when he speaks again, the teasing has dropped away enough that I can feel the shape of the concern under it.
"You really like him," he says.
The words go through me in a way I'm not prepared for.
Not because they're new. Because hearing them out loud makes it harder to hide inside all the messier details. Shibuya. The bar. Kai staying. The mark on my neck. It's easier to argue with circumstances than with the simple truth sitting underneath them.
I shrug, which is a weak, useless little motion that doesn't fool either of us.
Yuujin's face does that complicated thing it always does when he's trying to be pissed off and protective at the same time.
"I also told Kai that you like him, and I'm not even sorry," he says. "I said it because apparently somebody had to."
"When?" I ask too quickly.
"I called you because you sent me actual gibberish about being in Shibuya, and guess who picks up the phone, hm? Kai fucking Takato. So, I told him how it was." He announces proudly.
I vaguely remember being put to bed by Kai, and him being on the phone; I couldn't hear Yuujin, just the vague shape of the conversation. To think he was brave enough to confront Kai is actually kind of impressive.
A stupid, helpless laugh gets out of me before I can stop it.
Yuujin softens just enough to bump his shoulder against mine. "You're a nightmare."
For a second, we just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the courtyard while people pass us without caring that my life feels like it's become unbearably strange in less than a week.
Then Yuujin speaks again, quieter now.
"Did he take care of you?"
The question catches me off guard. It's not what happened exactly, not in the way Yuujin means it, but it still reaches the same place.
"Yeah," I say, and the word comes out softer than I mean it to. "He did."
Yuujin looks at me for a brief moment. Then he nods once, slowly.
"Okay," he says.
Relief moves through me so sharply it almost makes me feel weak.
Then Yuujin ruins it.
"But if you ever vanish to Shibuya with some sketchy older guy again without telling me," he says, jabbing a finger into my arm, "I'm actually going to beat your ass."
I roll my eyes. "You literally can't."
"I'll find a way."
"You say that like you've been training."
"I have," Yuujin says gravely. "Emotionally."
That almost gets a real laugh out of me.
Almost.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
The sound slices right through me. My body reacts before my brain does, hope flaring up so fast it's embarrassing.
Yuujin sees it happen on my face.
His eyes go alert with horrified delight. "No way."
I pull my phone out and hate myself a little for how quickly I look at it.
It's Kai.
But it's not Instagram like how he'd usually text.
It's his actual number. With his name already saved. I don't remember saving his number.
When the fuck did that happen?
Kai:
Where are you?
My whole face goes hot.
Yuujin leans in, trying to peek at my phone. "Is that him? Oh my God, it's him, isn't it?"
I immediately turn the screen away from him. "Mind your business."
"That is absolutely my business now!"
I can feel the buzz under my skin again, that awful, bright feeling of being seen from too many angles at once. Yuujin, the text, the weekend still alive in my body, Kai somewhere on this campus, acting like sending me orders disguised as care is normal.
I stare at the message for a second, then lock my phone and shove it back into my pocket.
Yuujin is looking at me like I've fully lost my mind.
I don't even have the energy to deny it.
"Don't," I say.
Yuujin feigns nonchalance. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't need to."
He grins despite himself. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get used to seeing you like this…you're like a little lovesick puppy."
I growl at him, shoving at his shoulder. "Shut up!"
My phone vibrates again.
Then again.
Yuujin gives me a look when I pull my phone out once more. Smug bastard.
I open the messages, instinctively trying to hide my screen.
Kai:
Anri.
Kai:
Don't make me look for you.
Incredible. The audacity. I almost want to laugh, but that'd only make Yuujin more suspicious.
"Go on," Yuujin nudges me again. "Go find him."
I scoff, but I already start moving. "You want to get rid of me so badly," I say as I give a small wave before I start toward the Faculty of Letters. Yuujin just waves me a 'goodbye' and shakes his head with his stupid grin.
My phone starts buzzing in my hand, but this time it's an incoming call.
Kai…
Before I can question it, I'm swiping to pick up.
"How the hell did you get my number?" I ask immediately.
There's a moment where Kai is silent. I can hear things moving on his end, the rush of students, a door thudding, until he's somewhere quieter.
Then, in that low, controlled voice of his, "I called myself from your phone after I added my number."
I've already started walking, putting a bit of distance between Yuujin and me before this gets any worse, before he can read too much off my face. Students drift past in loose groups, all of them too loud, too bright, too unaware. "You what?"
"I put my number in your phone," Kai says, calm as anything. "After I deleted the app."
My heart gives this awful, delighted jolt that I have to crush down immediately before it shows on my face. That's insane. It's controlling. It's invasive. It's also proof—ugly, undeniable proof—that he noticed everything, that he'd rather rearrange my phone than risk letting me slip somewhere he couldn't follow.
A crack in the armour.
I should be angrier than I am.
"You deleted my dating app?" I repeat, because if I say 'you put your number' in my phone first, it'll sound too much like the part I actually care about.
"Yes."
No hesitation. No apology. Just the truth, flat and certain.
I bite back a snicker that would sound too much like a smile. Of course he did. Of course, Kai takes one look at something he doesn't like and quietly removes it from the world. My skin feels too tight all of a sudden, an angry thrill humming under it in a way I absolutely cannot unpack in the middle of campus.
"Fuck you, that's psychotic," I say, making it sharp on purpose, because if I don't put some edge on it, it'll come out as something much more humiliating.
"If you want," Kai says, "we can discuss my behaviour after you tell me where you are."
There it is.
Not romance. Not softness. Just that clipped, systematic tone trying so hard to pass as indifference that it practically glows. Underneath it, I can hear the thing he refuses to name: he noticed I was gone.
A stupid, secret thrill runs through me. I hate it. I feed it anyway.
I glance back over my shoulder. Yuujin is still by the clocktower, watching me with vulgar interest from a distance, still smug. He can see I'm on the phone, but he's too far now to hear anything unless I start shouting, which, honestly, feels dangerously possible.
"I'm on campus," I say.
"I know that."
The answer lands warmer than it should. Of course, he knows that. That's not the point, and we both know it.
I slow my steps a little, dragging this out just enough to see what he'll do with it. "Then why are you asking?"
Kai goes quiet for half a second, not long enough to call it hesitation, just long enough for me to feel like I've pushed him somewhere narrow.
"Because you weren't where you were supposed to be," he says.
The way I want to actually laugh at him down the phone.
But it shouldn't feel as good as it does.
I keep walking anyway, the Faculty of Letters building ahead of me, the morning crowd moving around me like a current I'm pretending to go with. "Maybe I changed my mind."
"Anri."
The way he says my name is enough to make my grip tighten on my phone.
He's irritated. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough that I can hear the tension pulled tight underneath his voice. It feels like finding the edge of something hidden and pressing my thumb down to see if it leaves a bruise.
"You sound kinda hot when you're mad," I say before I can stop myself.
Behind me, Yuujin lifts both hands in an exaggerated 'well?' and I have to look away before I start laughing.
"I texted you three times. You ignored me." Kai replies.
"I didn't ignore you. I was busy; it's not the same."
"It is when you're not answering."
My mouth almost curves. There's no room for plausible deniability in the way he says it. He noticed. He minded. He called.
I'm an awful person because all I want to do is hear him sound like that again.
"So what?" I ask, keeping my voice mellow on purpose. "You were worried?"
Kai doesn't answer immediately.
The silence is everything. If he denied it too fast, it would mean less. If he laughed it off, I'd know I'd imagined it. Instead, he gives me nothing for one stretched-out moment, and in his breathing, I can hear him choosing control over honesty.
"Where are you?" he asks again, lower now.
Not an answer. Not a denial either.
I let my eyes drift over the courtyard like I'm considering whether to tell him. As if I'm not already moving in the direction he'll probably want. As if I'm not secretly enjoying the fact that he has to ask.
"I didn't even go far. I was near the clock tower, on my way back to Letters now," I say at last. "I was talking to Yuujin."
I don't know why I added that second part. Maybe because I want to see if it changes anything. Maybe because I want to prove to myself he doesn't care. Maybe because some ugly little part of me wants him to.
Kai exhales softly through his nose. Not annoyed exactly. Not pleased.
"Stay there," he says.
The words go through me in a rush.
A command. A request. A claim. I can't tell which one is warming my skin.
I should push back. I should tell him 'no' just to prove I still can.
Instead, I say, "Make me."
There's the faintest shift in Kai's voice when he answers, something so small I might have missed it if I weren't listening for cracks.
"Yeah?" he says. "Don't start something you can't finish."
And that lands so directly in the centre of me that for a second I forget how to be embarrassed.
I scoff, making it so he can hear it. "I'm not scared of you," But I giggle despite myself.
The call goes dead.
For a short moment, I feel so pleased with myself. I got under his skin.
"You should be scared."
I freeze so completely it feels like my shoes are stuck to the pavement.
His voice is close. Way too close. He's not on the phone now, not hidden by bad speakers or distance or the false courage that comes from not having to face him. He's right behind me, speaking low and steady, so real that every bit of confidence I felt a moment ago turns sharp inside me.
I turn around slowly. Moving any faster would look like panic, and I still have some pride.
Kai stands there as if he belongs to the morning, as if he's appeared in my way on purpose. He's in dark clothes, face composed, wearing that impossible calm—except now there's a tension I notice because I know him. His jaw is tighter than usual. His eyes are darker. The green one catches the light, cold and focused, while the brown one almost looks warm, but it's not the kind of heat you can trust.
Yuujin is still by the clock tower behind me, thankfully far enough away that it just looks like Kai stopped to talk. Maybe not a normal conversation—Kai isn't exactly normal—but not enough to draw attention. Just enough to make my heart pound inside my ribcage.
I fold my arms, hoping it helps. "You move fast."
Kai's gaze flicks over my face, then to my neck, then back again. It isn't exactly a hungry look. Worse than that. Assessing. Like he's checking for damage and blaming me for making him do it.
"You said 'make me'," he says.
His words strike hard so fast, I almost laugh at how unfair they are. He says it flat, like it's just a fact, but there's something underneath—irritation, for sure, and something even stronger, so tightly held it barely sounds like emotion.
I should shut up. I know I should. The sensible part of me is raking at the walls, trying to get my attention, but the rest of me is still drunk on the fact that he came. That he noticed. That I got under his skin enough for him to come looking for me in person.
So, of course, I make things worse.
"You didn't have to take it literally."
Kai's mouth shifts, not a smile. If anything, it looks like he's restraining one. "I know."
The answer lands harder than I expect. It would have been easier if he'd snapped, easier if he'd gone cold and made this feel like a mistake. Instead, he sounds almost insultingly in control, like he didn't have to come and still did anyway.
That should be embarrassing. It is. But it also does something to me I can't ignore.
I glance past him for a moment, down the path toward the Faculty of Letters, then back at him. "So what, are you stalking me between lectures now?"
"I called you."
"You hung up on me."
"No," Kai says, moving closer by one measured pace. "I came to get you."
Something in my face must give me away, because his eyes narrow a fraction. Not in anger. In recognition. Like he sees exactly where that sentence hit, but doesn't know whether to use it or back off.
He uses it.
Before I can say anything, his hand clasps my arm, firm and warm through my sleeve. It's not rough or sudden, but my whole body reacts like it's the first time anyone's ever touched me.
"Kai—"
"Come with me."
There's no point pretending that doesn't work on me. His words reach me head-on, low and quiet, impossible to mistake for a suggestion.
He doesn't drag me exactly. He just keeps hold of my arm and steers me toward the building with that infuriating certainty of his, and I go because resisting now would be theatre, and because my body has already decided this counts as being chosen.
I shouldn't be enjoying this.
Once we step inside, the outdoor noise fades.
Kai doesn't slow down. He turns into the stairwell like he always meant to bring me here, his hand firmly on my arm. The door swings shut behind us with a heavy sound that I feel in my spine.
The stairwell smells mildly of dust, concrete, and old air. There's light from the narrow window on the landing, pale and flat against the wall. It should feel ugly. Instead, it feels private, and privacy with Kai has become dangerous.
He finally lets go of my arm.
For a moment, I miss the pressure of his hand so much it actually annoys me.
I open my mouth to say something bratty, anything to cover up how fast my heart is beating, but I don't get the chance.
Kai steps in close enough that my back almost brushes the wall. Not pinned. Not trapped. Just close enough that the space between us turns useless. His hand lifts, and I know what he's going to do a split second before his fingers settle along my jaw.
My mind goes completely blank.
His thumb rests just under my chin, not pushing yet, just holding me there with a kind of maddening care that feels worse than if he'd grabbed me hard. My mouth parts on reflex. I hate myself for that instantly.
"Look at me," he says.
I already am. I don't know how not to be.
Still, his words get to me. My eyes lock on his, and I can't pretend I'm unaffected—not with his hand on my face, not with him this close, not with the memory of the weekend still fresh and him standing here like he's come to claim what's owed.
"You think this is funny," he says.
It's not a question.
I swallow, and he moves his thumb, shifting slightly along my skin, my knees nearly betray me from that alone, which is so embarrassing I feel like screaming.
"I think," I say, aiming for careless and landing somewhere softer, "you noticed I was gone very quickly."
His expression stays the same, but something in his eyes shifts—a little harder, a little softer. It's almost impossible to look at him and not feel like I've just touched a bruise and given him the truth.
"Kai," I add, because his name comes out of me before I can stop it, thinner than I want it to be.
His hand tightens just enough to keep my face tilted up. It doesn't hurt, but it reminds me he's here and won't permit me to pretend I didn't say what I did.
"You're relying on my self-control," he says quietly.
That shouldn't sound as devastating as it does.
I try to scoff. It comes out weak. "You're acting like I committed a crime."
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers there for one pause too long, then comes back up. When he speaks again, his tone is lower, more controlled, making it ten times worse.
"No," he says. "You knew what you were doing."
The heat rising in me now isn't just embarrassment. He's right, and that's the worst part. I did know—maybe not completely, but enough to test the boundary and see if he'd push it further.
I wet my lips before I can stop myself. Kai's eyes flick down again.
Suddenly, the stairwell feels way too small for both of us.
"And if I did?" I ask.
Too far, too much, too honest. As soon as I say it, I feel the air change, like I've put something between us that can't be ignored.
It's not an angry stillness. That would be easier. It's the kind that says he's thinking too carefully, holding too much in place at once.
Then his thumb moves, caressing the edge of my jaw in a way that feels so intimate my stomach flips.
"Then don't do it in the middle of campus," he says.
My breath catches. That's all. Not 'don't do it.' Not 'stop.' Just not here.
The meaning hits me so fast I can't hide it.
Kai notices too. His eyes sharpen, and for the first time since we entered the stairwell, I feel like I might have the upper hand—not because I'm winning, but because I've made him honest, even if it's by accident.
I try to salvage some kind of dignity. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're reckless."
There's no edge to it. Worse, there's something familiar in how he says it, like he's known this about me longer than I've realised, how much he notices, because suddenly all of this is too much again—the hand on my face, the fact he came after me, the fact I'm standing in a stairwell on a Monday morning feeling more seen than I know what to do with.
Kai's fingers shift. His grip softens, his thumb stroking once under my chin.
"Don't start things you can't finish," he says again, and this time it doesn't sound like a threat. It sounds like he's talking to both of us.
I want to know what he actually means. I want to know if he's bluffing.
I laugh, but it sounds weak. "You say that like you're any better."
For the first time, properly, the corner of his mouth lifts.
Not much. Just enough to undo me.
"I'm not," he says.
And somehow, those words affect me more than they should. For a second, neither of us moves. The building hums quietly around us. Farther beyond the stairwell door, footsteps pass, voices swell and fade, the whole normal day carrying on like this isn't happening in the middle of it.
Kai's gaze drops to my mouth again.
If he kisses me now, I'll let him. That truth arrives whole and shameless and much too late to do anything about it.
Maybe he sees it. Maybe he feels it in the way I've gone still beneath his hand.
He doesn't kiss me.
He lets the pause drag just enough to make me ache with it, then lowers his hand from my face slowly, like he's choosing control in real time and means me to feel every second of it.
"We're going back out there," he says, voice composed again, like he's putting his guard back up. "Try to act as if you can still think."
That shocks a laugh out of me before I can stop it.
Kai steps back—not far, just enough to cause the air to feel colder where he was. His eyes linger on me one last time.
"Can you manage that?" he asks.
I should tell him to fuck off. I should say something bratty and stupid and make him chase it.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Probably not."
Not exactly my best comeback.
Kai smiles, just barely. "Good. At least you're honest."
His fingers brush mine as he turns toward the door—just barely, just enough to make my breath catch—and suddenly I need to know if that was on purpose.
I grab his wrist before he can pull away completely.
Kai stops.
The stairwell goes silent except for our breathing.
I can feel his pulse under my fingers, fast like mine, and the realisation hits me like a punch to the chest: he's affected too.
Kai turns his hand slowly, catching mine in a grip that's more restraint than hold. His thumb presses into my palm's surface, rough and deliberate.
"Careful," he murmurs.
I swallow hard. "Or what?"
He tugs me forward, sudden enough that I falter into him, our chests brushing. His free hand catches my hip, holding me—or trapping me, I can't tell.
"Or I'll give you what you're asking for," he says, low against my ear. "Right here."
His breath is warm on my skin.
Instead, I tilt my head just enough to hold his gaze.
Kai's grip tightens.
A door slams somewhere upstairs.
We freeze.
Footsteps reverberate above us, distant but getting closer.
Kai exhales sharply through his nose and steps back, releasing me all at once. The absence of his touch feels like cold water.
I almost make an embarrassing sound, but I clamp my mouth shut in time. Kai smooths the front of his shirt, suddenly casual, as if nothing had happened.
Like his heart isn't racing, just like mine.
Like, he didn't get me this close just to see the look on my face.
I really hate him for having this effect on me, for seeing straight into me like I'm a glass window. It's infuriating.
"Come on," He says in that low, calm tone.
I don't answer with words. I let out an exaggerated huff, rolling my eyes before I push past him.
Kai makes an amused sound that almost sounds like a chuckle. It makes me fight a smile, and it's almost annoying that he can do that to me. He follows me out of the door, keeping just a little too close to be casual, and all the normal, everyday noises from outside feel obnoxiously loud after the silence of the stairwell.
Students and tourists mill about through the Hongo campus, laughing, chatting, rushing to the cafeteria, completely ignorant of the storm humming under my skin.
—
I step out of the showers after soccer practice, and Kai is already waiting for me as if everything has clicked into place now that he doesn't have to pretend I'm not someone he keeps track of.
Soccer practice was mostly normal. Most of the team welcomed me back without making a big thing of it.
Kai ran the session as if captaincy were just another job he couldn't be bothered to refuse. Riku, Tora and Kento stayed quiet under the scrutiny of Coach Nakamura.
Most importantly, nobody clocked the blemish on my neck. If they did, they kept it to themselves, which is good enough for me.
The drive home passes too quickly. As if somehow the traffic decided I was only allowed to savour a short drive with Kai. Short enough to sit in pleasant quiet. Too short to actually get him to open up and say anything other than directives.
One hand on the wheel, eyes ahead, that unchanged quiet control he carries everywhere, like the day hasn't peeled anything open in him at all.
But I know that's not true.
By the time we get to my building, he parks and cuts the engine, and everything goes still for a second.
I want to reach out and grab him. I want him to kiss me. I want—
"Text me when you're upstairs."
I unbuckle my seatbelt, then hesitate before leaning back against the seat and looking up at him.
"We're not on the pitch anymore, Captain…you don't get to order me around," I keep my voice soft on purpose because I want to see what that does to him.
Kai stills—only for a second—then leans back into his own seat, keeping eye contact. "You want me to stop? Say it." His voice falls low in that velvety way that makes my skin tingle.
I'm trying to hide my reaction, but my eyes probably give me away. I'm sure Kai sees it because his lips curve slightly like he's trying to hold back that smug smirk. It's so unfair. He just flips the script on me. My mouth opens to retort, but I'm frozen. "I—that's…"
"Hm?" Kai leans toward me, enough that I can smell his shampoo, still not close enough to satisfy. "Use your words, Anri,"
"You're—that's—uhh…shut up," I break eye contact first. My bravado shatters.
"Go upstairs before that smart mouth of yours gets you in trouble," Kai says it in that same low, even voice, but there's something gruff under it now, something he's trying very hard to keep flat. It's not a threat exactly. More like a warning from the person who'd be doing the damage.
My face goes hot.
It's remarkable how he can make one sentence sound like a hand closing around the back of my neck.
I grab my bag before I can say anything even more embarrassing.
"Yeah, yeah, alright," I mutter, which is weak as hell and definitely not the sharp comeback I wanted.
Kai's mouth shifts, barely. "Upstairs, Anri."
I get out before I can make this worse. The evening air hits me and does absolutely nothing. I shut the car door a little too hard, sling my bag over my shoulder, and head for the building like I'm not aware of him still sitting there watching me go.
Of course, I look back once.
He's still there. One hand on the wheel, face unreadable again, like the last five minutes didn't happen. As if he didn't lean in and ruin my ability to think. I flip him off on instinct.
Kai just inclines his head once.
That's somehow worse.
When I get upstairs, my phone is already in my hand. I step into my apartment, shut the door behind me, and stand there for a second amid the quiet, still feeling too warm, too wrung out, too aware of myself.
Then I lock it.
Ace:
I'm upstairs, bossy
A message comes through almost straight away.
Kai:
Lock your door.
I stare at it and let out this stupid little breath of a laugh.
Of course.
I type back before I can overthink how quickly I'm doing it.
Ace:
already did
The reply comes fast.
Kai:
Good.
I'll pick you up tomorrow.
That one word gets me worse than it should.
I stand there in my hallway with my bag still on my shoulder and my phone in my hand, feeling the whole day settle strangely into place. The morning pickup. His hand in the car. The stairwell. Practice. Him waiting after.
It isn't even that anything huge happened.
It's that he's there now, at the beginning and end of things, like that's just how my life works.
And maybe that's the part that should scare me.
Instead, I lean back against the wall, stare at the screen a second longer than I need to and realise I'm smiling.
Somewhere over one weekend and one Monday, Kai had stopped feeling like an interruption and started feeling like part of the shape of my life.
By the time I'm ready and in bed, I feel too drunk on the realisation that I truly want someone who I know is technically bad for me. I should care that I don't have answers to who Kai is behind closed doors. I'm sick in the head because I just want his attention. I want him to be bossy; I want him to tell me what to do. I want to crack him open until he takes what he wants from me without holding back.
I pull out my phone to text Kai.
Ace:
Still thinking of my smart mouth?
I don't know how I got so brave all of a sudden. It must be because I've seen proof. I've seen what he looks like when he has hunger in his eyes, as if he wants to rip me apart just to put me back together again. I can't unsee that. I can't just pretend that doesn't make me feel like I actually have some power over him.
My phone vibrates against my hand.
Kai:
That depends. Are you going to use it properly?
I should stop. I should lock my phone and go to sleep. But I'm fuelled by that stupid late-night, horny-brained desire that has me typing things I wouldn't say if I wasn't irrevocably down horrendous for Kai Takato.
Ace:
maybe you should show me how to use it
There's no way he'll bite. He'll say something stupid and mechanical and I can just go to sleep and pretend I wasn't thinking about him in that way.
Kai is typing…
Kai:
I could. The question is whether you'd be brave enough to let me.
You're bold now, but you were blushing in my car a few hours ago.
I'm reduced to a wreck from two lines of text. I want to reply with something sharp, something to prove I'm still in control.
Ace:
I wasn't blushing.
My face just looks like that when you're being annoying…
Kai is typing…
Kai:
Mm.
You look cute when you're "annoyed"
"Whatever!" I say out loud before locking my phone and putting it under my pillow.
I shut my eyes, pretending sleep is an ending, when it's really just a pause in something I've already lost control of.