The taxi ride back from Hakusan is so quiet it almost feels staged. Tokyo is pretending to be silent while the outside world keeps moving. Kai was the one who insisted on a cab, said it would be better than waiting for the next train or trekking home in the kind of rain that can't make up its mind. But it's unbearable because how can he just kiss me like that and expect me to behave while our driver pretends we don't exist? Worse still, why do I have to think about behaving when I should be thinking about why I reciprocated the kiss of a criminal?
He trusts me…Why else would he actually admit it? I could ruin his whole operation with one phone call…
Yet…
I know I won't.
Raindrops slide over the windows in thin lines. I stare past the rush of fleeting convenience stores, groups of people rushing for cover in clusters—yet all I can really focus on is Kai's gaze through the reflection.
He's sitting beside me, fingers tapping against his thigh, knuckles still bruised from last night. He could at least try to act just a little bit normal. But no, he's unapologetically staring at the back of my head—or maybe my eyes through the reflection—his body isn't even subtle, he has all of the space in the world, and his body is angled towards me.
I don't know what makes me want to scream at him more—the way he has the audacity to stare at me like that, and I can't do anything about it but pretend I'm not staring back, or the fact that—despite how weird I think he is, despite how unhinged—I still have to fight back a stupid smile.
I fail, obviously.
Because I'm sitting in this impossibly quiet car, in Kai Takato's hoodie after he kissed me in the rain.
This is real now, my Anri.
His.
Mine.
I've tried to think around those words since he said them, but there's nowhere left for my thoughts to go.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
For a second, I consider not checking, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I'm pulling my phone out to give my hands something to do.
Yuyu:
Soooooo??
I stare at the message.
Then another pops up.
Yuyu:
ARE YOU ALIVE OR DID KAI KILL YOU WITH HIS EVIL FLOWER DATE???
A laugh threatens to spill out of me before I can stop it. I press the sleeve of the hoodie over my mouth, which is not exactly subtle when half my face disappears into it.
Ace:
I'm alive, idiot…
We're on the way back to mine
Yuyu is typing…
Yuyu:
…
Yuyu is typing…
Yuyu:
IS HE STAYING OVER AGAIN??
DOES THIS MAKE IT OFFICIAL?
I bite the inside of my cheek, the smile wins again anyway—because yes, he's staying over, and yes, I asked him to.
Because apparently, every time Kai kisses me, I either get braver or stupider—I haven't decided. It feels less like a choice and more like momentum. I want to pretend I only asked because I didn't want him to go home in the rain, because it's late, because normal people invite people in after dates. But Kai knows me too well for excuses like that.
Worse, I know myself too well. He kissed me, and I asked him to stay the night, knowing full well what it meant. Kai isn't stupid; he knows what sharing a bed with me means, he knows how badly I want him after last night—at least, I hope he knows what I'm asking for…that would be awkward. What if he doesn't make a move? What if I freak out when he does?
Heat floods my face so fast that I feel drunk for a split second. I start typing because it's easier than pretending Kai isn't going to see the shape of Yuujin's and my conversation just from the way I'm blushing.
Ace:
Yeah…
Yuyu is typing…
Yuyu:
ace be so serious rn
Yeah as in staying over or yeah as in official?
The taxi keeps moving. Rain drags itself down the window as Kai's reflection stays fixed over the glass.
Official. This is real now, my Anri. Official feels too small a word for how he kissed me, giving me one last chance to run. All Yuujin can see are two rivals, teammates who were messy enough to make a dance out of 'liking each other' by disguising it with sharp words and feigned hatred. But somewhere between the rivalry and denying my feelings, Kai sees me. Not as a prize or a challenge. Just as me. I feel nervous when I'm around him, but that's just me, and I don't have to pretend. Don't want to pretend.
I type before I can lose my nerve.
Ace:
Yes to both
Yuyu is typing…
Yuyu:
ANRI ARE YOU SERIOUS??
FINALLY…
Yuyu is typing…
Yuyu:
IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU
But seriously…if he ever makes you cry I'LL KEY HIS CAR.
A laugh catches in my throat, but it comes out softer this time.
"Hm?" Kai hums.
I lock my phone suspiciously fast like an idiot, as if that somehow doesn't make me look guilty, like I'm erasing evidence.
Then I look up at him.
"Nothing," I murmur.
His eyes flick to my hands for half a second. When his gaze lifts back to my face, that knowing smirk of his tugs at his lips.
Is he really trying to undo me in a taxi right now?
I turn my gaze away to stare out of the window too quickly—otherwise I'm going to do something stupid like reach for his hand.
I lean my head against the window. Oh, I hate him so much. As if he actually has me smiling like this after telling me he's dangerous. There must be something wrong with me. My body hears 'I do bad things.' So I lean in closer? So I've fallen in love with him?
What is love anyway? Who gets to decide what it means? I'm an orphan at eighteen because my parents "loved" too messily. My mum used to tell me she "loved" me, then disappear for days. Yuujin "loves" Mei—even if he wouldn't admit that—but can't be with her because she'll go back to China in a few years' time.
To me, love is something you're destined to lose. Something that always leaves.
Love is pain.
Yet, I have Kai's hoodie wrapped around me like a promise, smiling like a middle-schooler with a crush because he made the word mine sound less like a threat than a place to sleep.
I don't want him to leave.
I can tell we're getting closer to my apartment because the clinic sign is in view, and before I know it, the driver pulls into the alley next to my building.
Kai pays and thanks the driver in that low, polite voice of his, as if he didn't spend the entire ride staring at me through a reflection.
I get out first, pulling the hood over my damp hair. The rain has thinned into a damp mist, wet air slipping past my ankles. Water drips from the concrete lip above the recessed parking cove where Kai's BMW is parked—sleek and absurdly out of place next to the cracked concrete.
Kai gets out after me; he doesn't bother opening his umbrella. He just lets the mist cover his already soaked hair. I hurriedly start towards the entrance of my building, then realise Kai isn't following.
I stop under the overhang and watch him unlock his car, the lights flash once with a chirp.
"I thought you were staying…" I murmur.
Kai opens his boot, putting the umbrella and his bag in. Then he reaches farther in, pulling out another bag. A black duffel bag that looks way too expensive for what it is…a fucking bag.
"Huh?" I say, stupidly. "What's that?"
He closes his boot and walks past me. "Clothes," he says, looking over his shoulder. "Unless you planned on lending me soccer shorts again."
"You planned this." It's not a question.
"Prepared."
"What's the difference?"
He walks ahead of me towards the entrance, and my short legs have to work twice as hard just to catch up.
"Prepared means I didn't assume," Kai says.
That's so much worse than if he'd been smug about it. Because there's a version of today where I didn't ask him to come up—a version where I'd walk away and go on pretending that Kai Takato was merely a teammate, a fellow student, nothing more—and he would've driven away with that bag still sitting in his boot. But this version of today, I did ask, and he wanted to be ready enough to say yes without making me feel stupid for needing him.
"You're so weird," I mutter.
Kai glances down at me as we reach the entrance. "You keep saying that."
"Because you keep being weird."
His mouth shifts, barely. "I was hoping you'd ask me to stay."
There's that warm, drunk feeling in my cheeks again—it's raining, but I feel like I'm on fire.
The elevator on the way up isn't any better. Standing face to face like this, the way his white undershirt has gone a little see-through at the collar, the way I'm trying so hard not to look, but can't stop—especially when his gaze is pinned to me like permission to look back, eyes roaming over the hoodie swallowing me whole as if he doesn't care that I've caught him. "You're soaked," I say, just to sever the intensity for a moment. "You can…" I swallow, the words catching in my throat. "…take a shower…if you want."
"You first," Kai says with a smirk.
"I offered first."
The elevator hums up another floor. Kai's eyes flick up to the floor indicator, then back to me. "And I'm telling you to go first. You'll catch a cold."
"Tch—" I pout, crossing my arms. "You ever gonna let me get my own way?"
"What's your own way, hm?" he asks, stepping closer. "I thought being mine was enough for one day."
My whole body feels hot. The elevator suddenly feels too small—it's him—taking up space like fire spreading.
"You can't just say things like that," I mutter.
"I can if it's true, and I just did. So get used to it."
The elevator dings, and the door slides open before I can even try to think of a comeback for that.
By the time we reach my door, my keys are already in my hand, catching on the sleeve of the hoodie when I fidget with them.
Kai stays silent behind me while I fumble with the lock. I struggle long enough that when the door finally swings open, the relief of it overshadows the fact that I forgot to clean my room after last night.
Fuck.
Kai is about to step inside before I grab his arm. "Wait—just wait here a minute."
"Why?"
"Just…because I said so."
I fly through the door, kicking my trainers off in the genkan. I move so fast that I nearly trip over the step before darting straight down the hallway to my room.
My eyes skitter over the room at last night's mess. It's not as bad as I remember; my sheets are fresh, last night's clothes are in the laundry, and my sleep pants are hanging off the headboard of my bed.
Okay.
My lockbox is open on the floor. There's a bottle of lube on my desk that I forgot to put back after last night. For one full second, my brain leaves my body.
The bottle just sits there in the open like it wants to press charges.
"Oh my god," I whisper.
From the genkan, Kai's voice carries down the hallway. "Anri?"
"I'm fine!" I say, too loudly.
I lunge for the bottle before Kai can say anything else. My fingers slip around it, nearly drop it, catch it against my chest, then hate myself because I somehow have the clumsiest fingers in Japan.
I drop to my knees and quickly put it in the lockbox next to my cigarettes, then take the cigarette box out and throw it onto my desk, anticipating that I'm probably going to need one to calm my nerves.
I snap the lid shut and catch my finger in the latch.
"Ouch—"
"You're not fine," Kai says.
"I am," I hiss, shaking my hand once. "Don't come in."
"I wasn't," he huffs. I can hear the amusement in his voice, as if he's being polite enough not to laugh, but it's there, and I want to go out into the hallway and bite him.
I kick the lockbox under the bed so hard it bumps against the wall with a dull thud. Then my eyes skim around my room, breathing too quickly. Okay, it looks normal. 'Lived in' is better than letting him see the remnants of me losing it for him last night.
That will have to do.
When I walk back out into the hallway, Kai is exactly where I left him. Standing by the door, his boots kicked off next to mine in the genkan.
For some stupid reason, it makes my heart flutter seeing him like this. Standing in the entryway with his duffel bag, dripping a small puddle from his rain-soaked clothes.
He looks way too calm for someone dripping rainwater all over my floor.
His gaze moves over me once. Not past me, not down the hall, not toward my room. Just me. My flushed face. My damp hair. The way I'm probably breathing too fast for someone who only spent a minute 'tidying.'
"Finished?" he asks.
I narrow my eyes at him, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice. "Don't say it like that—like you know something I don't." My frustration simmers just beneath the words, colouring them more pointed than I intend.
Kai arches an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Like what?" His tone sounds light, but there's an unmistakable challenge underneath.
"Like you know exactly what I'm trying to hide, even when I haven't said anything," I reply, my voice lower, as if saying it out loud might make it more real.
He gives a slight, knowing smile. "I do know," Kai says quietly, his confidence almost infuriating in its certainty.
Kai's eyes stay on mine.
His eyes aren't sharp, not searching me for defences to pierce or secrets to expose. Instead, there's a patience in the way he keeps looking at me, something steady and deep that makes it almost impossible to hide. It's worse than any accusation could be.
My mouth snaps shut before I can incriminate myself even more.
He doesn't push or prod for more. Instead, he glances at the small puddle forming beneath him and then back at me. "You should shower before you catch a cold," he says.
I shoot back, "You're the one dripping all over my floor," trying to deflect, but there's a reserved smile threatening at the corners of my mouth.
He lifts his chin in calm defiance. "And you're the one shivering, not me," he points out, not even trying to hide the concern in his voice.
"I'm not cold…"
My hands, still half-swallowed inside his sleeves, absolutely betray me. No matter how much I try to act unaffected, the truth shows itself in the way my fingers curl for warmth and security, exposing nerves I can't hide.
Kai's voice is gentle though firm. "I'm telling you to go first," he urges, as if he's already decided that taking care of me is just part of the deal.
I can't help but tease, "You're so bossy sometimes, you know that?" My words are light, but there's affection laced through them.
He grins, entirely unbothered. "Yes, and you need someone to keep you in line," he quips.
I huff, rolling my eyes. "Whatever, if you get sick, don't come crying to me," I say, only half-serious.
Kai's smirk is quick and devastating. "Go on, before I get impatient and get in there with you," he says, waving me toward the bathroom with exaggerated patience.
I hate that my body moves before my pride even decides if it wants to. "Fine, but at least take some clothes off, I'll wash them for you," I say, and immediately coil at how domestic I sound.
The bathroom feels too small once I'm inside it. Or maybe it's just because Kai is on the other side of the door, standing in my apartment with his overnight bag, waiting for me like this is a normal thing people do after kissing in the rain and quietly ruining each other's lives.
I take off the hoodie with more effort than I'd like to admit, which is ridiculous since it's just fabric. Warm, slightly rain-damp, smelling like him, hanging too big on me like proof that I'm his.
The shower turns hot quickly.
I step under the water and let it hit the back of my neck, trying to wash the rain out of my hair, trying to calm down, trying not to think about the bottle I just shoved into my lockbox.
It doesn't work.
Does he actually want me in that way? Does he know he's the only person I've ever thought about having sex with?
Steam fills the room, blurring the mirror. My skin warms up too quickly, but inside I still feel shaky. Not really cold. Just on edge.
This is real now, my Anri.
I rest my forehead against the tile for half a second.
"Idiot," I mutter to myself.
I don't even know which one of us I mean.
Ten minutes under hot water doesn't help. When I get out, dry off, and put on clean dark pants and a plain shirt, my nerves are still quivering. I look at the hoodie hanging on the towel rack.
I look away from the hoodie, trying to focus on anything else, but after a moment, my gaze drifts back. No matter how many times I try to ignore it, I keep finding myself drawn to the sight of it hanging there, as if it's waiting for me to just cave.
I put it on again, telling myself it's because I'm cold, though I know that's only part of the truth. The fabric is soft against my skin, but what I'm really chasing is the comfort of his presence—absurd considering there's only a door and a small hallway between us.
When I step out, Kai is standing near the kitchen, wearing only his soaked white shirt and cargo pants, his hair still clinging darkly to his forehead. He has his phone in one hand, but the screen goes dark the second he looks at me.
He glances at the hoodie just once, his expression impassive, before letting his gaze settle back on my face. In that short moment, I feel exposed, as if he knows more than he's letting on, but he chooses not to say anything.
Somehow, his silence makes the moment heavier, amplifying the awkwardness between us and turning my nerves into something close to unbearable. It's as if every unsaid word lingers in the air, too loud to ignore.
"What?" I mutter.
Kai's mouth shifts. "You're wearing my hoodie."
"I like it."
"I didn't ask why."
My face heats.
"Shut up and shower," I say, stepping past him before he can see too much of whatever my expression is doing.
Kai moves to my room, puts his duffel on the floor by my desk, and opens it. I tell myself I'm not watching, but I definitely am.
Everything inside is way too neat. Black clothes folded, a small toiletry pouch, and a charger cable wrapped up instead of tangled, like most people's. There's a packet tucked flat against the side, but I don't let myself look long enough to see what it is.
He pulls out dark sweatpants, a clean shirt, and the toiletry pouch.
No hesitation. No mess. Even his overnight bag is organised.
He disappears into the bathroom with his clothes and toiletries, closing the door behind him.
The shower starts a moment later.
For a few seconds, I just stand there.
I try to do the sensible thing. I put Kai's wet clothes in the washer, smoke a cigarette to calm my nerves—half leaning out the balcony door not to get wet—then I'm back in my room, sitting on my bed.
Kai is in my shower.
Kai is in my apartment, in my shower, after telling me he hoped I'd ask him to stay.
My gaze drifts to his bag.
I catch myself before I can give in to the temptation, forcing myself to look away from the bag and focus on something else. I know it's not right to snoop, but curiosity eats away at me, making it harder to resist by the second.
I look away.
The water keeps running behind the bathroom door.
I look back.
"No," I whisper to myself, which is apparently the sound I make before doing something stupid.
The zipper isn't fully closed.
That seems like a personal attack.
I last maybe thirty seconds.
Then I cross the room and crouch by the bag, my heart already pounding. I'm not really going through it. I'm just checking. Trying to figure out what kind of person packs a full overnight bag after a flower festival and calls it 'prepared' like that isn't emotional violence.
I do it anyway.
The first things are normal enough to make me feel worse: clean socks, underwear folded so neatly I look away immediately and therefore think about them more, another dark shirt, a phone charger, a power bank, deodorant, and face wash. There are mints in one side pocket, painkillers, plasters, and a tiny packet of cleansing wipes.
Of course, he packs like he's always ready for things to go wrong. There's a kind of painstaking care in the way he folds his clothes and prepares for every possibility, as if he's learned the hard way that it's safer to be overprepared than caught off guard.
There's also a cigarette box and lighter in another pocket, and for some reason, that makes me smile before I can stop myself. Not because it's good—it isn't. Just because it's him. Even his vices are organised.
Then my fingers graze a smaller pouch tucked deeper inside.
I should stop.
I know I should stop.
But my pulse is already pounding in my throat, and the shower is still running, and some part of me wants proof badly enough to ignore that I'm acting like a little criminal with attachment issues.
My fingers still.
For a moment, I freeze in place, realisation dawning as I take in what I've found. My breath catches in my throat, and I can't quite decide if I'm surprised or just overwhelmed by the implications.
I go lightheaded for a second. I didn't think it would be possible to blush any more than I already have today. I'm crouching by Kai's bag with a box of his condoms…
A mixture of guilt and anticipation floods in my chest. I'm invading his privacy…and in my own fucked up way, I feel entitled. Kai's been looking at me long before we exchanged words. It feels only natural to want to dig a little deeper.
He really did think about this and planned for it in a way that feels both considerate and devastating. Every detail, every tucked-away item, is evidence that he didn't just come here on a whim—he wanted to be ready, for me, for us, for the possibility of something more.
The condoms are there next to a small bottle of lube, tucked away instead of just tossed in. Not on top. Not obvious. Not left out like he was expecting anything. Prepared.
My mouth goes dry.
He brought them.
No, not because he assumed. I know that—somehow knowing it makes everything worse. He brought them because if I asked, if I wanted more, if tonight turned into something we couldn't ignore, he wouldn't be careless with me. Heat spreads throughout me so fast it feels almost painful.
The shower shuts off.
I nearly throw the box across the room.
"Fuck—"
I scramble, shoving everything back with hands that suddenly forget how to work. Shirt. Charger. Pouch. No, wrong side. Was that pocket zipped? Were the mints facing up? Why does he fold socks like that? Why is my brain trying to solve laundry puzzles while Kai is naked behind a door and I'm acting like a freak?
The bathroom door opens.
I zip the bag too quickly and stand so fast my knee cracks.
He comes into my room in black sweatpants and a black fitted T-shirt—hair flat, wet and messy. It makes him look softer, more real—nearly vulnerable in a way I'm not used to seeing. That, somehow, is worse than any armour he could wear, because it's already making me want—
I forget to breathe.
Then I remember what I was doing and probably look like someone who just got caught doing something weird.
Kai stops.
His gaze moves from my face to the bag.
Back to my face.
He doesn't accuse me, not even with a glance or the smallest shift of his features. There's no judgment, just a silent acceptance that makes my guilt twist even tighter inside me.
That makes it so much worse.
"Tea?" I blurt.
His eyes stay on mine for half a second longer.
Then his mouth twitches.
"Tea," he repeats.
"Yes. Tea. People drink it. Very normal."
"Apparently."
I turn into the hallway before my face can confess without my permission.
For the next minute, I focus completely on the kettle. I fill it—too much—pour some out, put it on. I grab two mugs from the cupboard. I almost pick the one with a chipped rim, then decide that's embarrassing, then realise caring about mugs is even more embarrassing.
Kai moves quietly in my room.
Every little sound he makes feels louder. Folding the towel. The soft sound of fabric as he sets it down. His bare feet on the floor. The zipper on his bag.
I freeze.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
He knows.
Of course, he notices. Kai always notices—every detail, every change, every small disturbance in the world around him. It's both infuriating and unusually comforting, the way nothing seems to slip past his attention.
I keep staring at the mugs on the counter, desperately wishing that focusing on something so ordinary could somehow protect me from the embarrassment and anxiety on the verge of spilling over. If I just focus hard enough, maybe I can pretend none of this is happening.
"Anri," Kai calls quietly from my room.