Yoichi stood beside Ichika at the elevator, both of them silent as the doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss. The guitar had been left in his room because Ichika had insisted it would get in the way.
The doors closed. The digital display began its countdown.
30... 29... 28...
Ichika kept her eyes forward, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. The soft overhead lighting caught the edges of her pink-white hair, creating a halo effect that contrasted with the waves of cold fury radiating from her. She hadn't said a word since they left the kitchen.
Yoichi leaned against the opposite wall, studying her profile.
She's pissed. Really pissed. Why?
He replayed the morning: her comment about his "new bed," the look in her eyes when she'd mentioned his untouched sheets. The way she'd said Miku's name.
She knows. She must have checked my room last night and seen I wasn't there. Then she saw me come out of Miku's room this morning.
The pieces clicked into place, forming a picture that made sense with what he knew—or thought he knew.
So that's it. She's worried about her quiet little sister. Thinks the big bad wolf is going to corrupt her. She's playing the protective Onee-san.
25... 24... 23...
"Remember the bet, Yoichi-kun?"
"Yeah."
"I let you off easy yesterday." She still hadn't turned to look at him. "But today... the deal was for the entire day. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. Understood?"
"Okay."
22... 21... 20...
Ichika finally turned, her blue eyes narrowed, stepping away from the wall to face him directly.
"Then for today... you are to act as my boyfriend."
Yoichi's careful theory crumbled like sand.
"Wait. What?"
19... 18... 17...
Ichika's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You heard me, my boyfriend."
Yoichi stared at her. This made no sense. Unless... it was a test. A way for her to punish him for getting close to Miku.
A bet is a bet. I'm a man of my word. Fine.
"And what will your manager think about that?" he asked, his voice level.
"That's my problem. Your problem is making it convincing." Her smile grew wider, more confident. She thought she had him cornered. "Think you can manage that, Yoichi-kun?"
16... 15... 14...
He didn't just agree. He pushed off the wall and stepped toward her, closing the distance between them in the small space. She instinctively backed up until her shoulders touched the cool metal wall. The smugness in her eyes flickered, replaced by something wary.
"What type of boyfriend?" His voice dropped lower, losing its usual sarcastic edge and taking on a quiet, dangerous quality.
He leaned closer, his head slightly tilted down to look directly into her eyes. She was tall for a girl, but he still towered over her by several inches.
"The sweet, golden retriever type who carries your bags and tells you you're pretty?" He paused, watching her pupils dilate slightly. "The cold, aloof type who hates everyone but you?"
13... 12... 11...
Ichika's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
"I—"
He reached out and took her hand, the one that wasn't clutching her purse, his fingers lacing through hers. He gave it a firm squeeze.
"Or the possessive one?"
10... 9... 8...
He leaned in until his lips nearly touched her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
"Which boyfriend do you want me to be... baby?"
Ichika's carefully constructed anger, her jealousy, her plan… it all vanished in a flash of heat.
Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she was sure he could hear it. A deep, unstoppable blush flooded her face and neck.
Her mind flashed to the dozens of steamy, toxic romance webtoons she secretly binged late at night. The possessive male leads, the dangerous eyes, the way they'd trap the heroine against a wall... He was embodying her guiltiest fantasy. He was taller, his voice deeper, and the look in his eyes... it was exactly right.
Oh no. He's perfect. He's going to be so, so good at this.
7... 6... 5...
She couldn't meet his gaze. She stared at his collarbone, her breath shallow. She could barely get the words out. They were a ghost of a sound.
"Very... possessive."
Yoichi pulled back slightly, a flicker of a cold, satisfied smile on his lips.
"As you wish."
4... 3... 2... 1...
The elevator chimed, arriving at the ground floor. The doors slid open, revealing the bright light of the lobby. Yoichi didn't let go of her hand. He stepped out first, pulling her along slightly behind him, his posture shifting into one of casual ownership.
Ichika stumbled slightly, her legs unsteady beneath her. How had this happened?
The doorman nodded respectfully as they passed. Outside, the morning sun spilled across the polished pavement, bright after the dim elevator. A sleek black car waited at the curb.
Leaning against it was a stressed-looking man in his late 30s with slightly-too-long, badly dyed blond hair. Mamoru Tanaka, her manager, checked his watch with visible irritation as they approached.
"Ichika, we're five minutes late!" His gaze shifted to Yoichi, then their linked hands, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. "Who is this?"
Ichika opened her mouth to give a professional excuse, but Yoichi spoke first.
"Her bodyguard. And her boyfriend."
He looked Mamoru up and down, his grey eyes filled with dismissive ice.
"Problem?"
"B-boyfriend?" Mamoru sputtered, looking between them. "Since when? Why wasn't I informed? This could affect your image—"
"It's new," Ichika found her voice, stepping to Yoichi's side but not pulling her hand from his. "And it's private."
"But the agency has protocols for this! Contracts that stipulate—"
"Get in the car, Mamoru." Yoichi's voice was quiet but carried the unmistakable tone of someone used to being obeyed. "We can discuss this on the way. We're already late, right?"
Mamoru opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a fish gasping for water. Then, to Ichika's absolute shock, he simply nodded and moved to open the back door for them.
As Yoichi guided her toward the car, his hand moved to the small of her back, warm and firm through the thin fabric of her blouse. He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear.
"See? I'm very good at being possessive."
A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the morning chill.
"Yes," she whispered. "You are."
He helped her into the back seat, sliding in beside her, his thigh pressing against hers in the confined space. As Mamoru got into the front passenger seat, giving instructions to the driver, Yoichi's arm settled around her shoulders, casual and proprietary.
"So," he said, loud enough for Mamoru to hear, "tell me about this event."
Ichika swallowed hard. She was an actress. She'd played countless roles, from silly commercials to dramatic death scenes. She knew how to fake emotions, how to manufacture chemistry with co-stars she barely knew.
Yet sitting here, with Yoichi's arm around her, his fingers idly playing with a strand of her hair, she wasn't acting.
"It's... it's a swimwear campaign," she managed. "In collaboration with Strawberry Productions."
"Is that a big company?" Yoichi raised an eyebrow, his fingers still toying with her hair. "If so, that's a big deal."
"Exactly!" Mamoru turned in his seat, eyes wide with professional desperation. "Which is why we can't have any distractions or complications! Ichika, you should have told me about this... relationship." He looked at Yoichi warily. "No offense."
"None taken," Yoichi replied, his voice ice-cold. "But let me be clear. I'm coming to this audition. I'm staying with Ichika. And there's nothing you can do about it."
Mamoru turned to Ichika, pleading silently for help. She should back him up. She should explain that this was just a game, a bet, nothing serious.
Instead, she leaned into Yoichi's side, resting her head against his shoulder.
"He stays," she said softly.
Mamoru slumped in defeat and turned back around.
As the car pulled into traffic, Ichika felt Yoichi's grip on her tighten slightly. She looked up to find him watching her, his storm-grey eyes unreadable.
"You know," he murmured, his voice so low that only she could hear, "if I'm going to play this role properly, I should know more about you. What makes Ichika Nakano tick? What are her fears? Her desires?"
Ichika's heart stuttered. "You don't need to know that for a one-day performance," she whispered back.
His fingers traced a slow pattern on her shoulder, sending tingles down her spine.
"But I want to give an authentic performance," he said, his mouth curving into a small, knowing smile. "Isn't that what good actors do? Find the truth in the role?"
She looked away, out the window at the Tokyo cityscape blurring past. He was using her own world, her own language, against her.
"You're enjoying this," she accused quietly.
"Shouldn't I? It's what you wanted." His hand moved to her chin, gently turning her face back toward his. "A possessive boyfriend who makes it clear you're his."
Their faces were inches apart. She could feel his breath on her lips.
"And if I'm going to be yours today," he continued, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard, "then you're going to be mine, Ichika. All mine."
The car hit a small bump in the road, jostling them closer together for a moment. Ichika's hand instinctively landed on his chest to steady herself. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm, strong and steady, unlike her own racing pulse.
"We're almost there," Mamoru called from the front seat.
Yoichi's arm slipped from around her shoulders, but he caught her hand in his, intertwining their fingers on the seat between them.
"Don't worry," he said, giving her hand a squeeze. "We got this."
The car slowed as they approached a warehouse. As they pulled to a stop, Ichika took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, not trusting her voice. As they exited the car, his hand found the small of her back again, guiding her toward the building entrance.
What have I gotten myself into? she wondered, walking beside her pretend boyfriend toward what could be the most important moment of her life.
And why, despite all rational thought, was she looking forward to finding out?