Despite Sora's optimistic "five-minute walk," running through a typhoon-level downpour meant they arrived at his house completely soaked, both breathing hard from the sprint.
Sora fumbled with his keys, water dripping from his hair, finally getting the door open.
"Grandma! I'm home! And I brought a—"
"SORA?!"
Yone Kurumatani appeared from the kitchen, took one look at Sora and the drenched, beautiful silver-haired girl beside him—both soaking wet, both flushed, both slightly out of breath—and her face transformed into pure delight.
"A girl! A beautiful girl! In our home! Soaking wet with my grandson!" Yone was practically vibrating with excitement. "Come in, come in! You poor dears!"
"Grandma, this is Kujou Alisa from my class. She's my tutor, and the storm caught us, so—"
"Your 'tutor.'" Yone's tone made air quotes unnecessary. "Of course. A tutor. Who he brings home. Both of them soaked to the bone. How very... educational."
"It's exactly what it sounds like!" Sora protested.
"Mmm-hmm." Yone winked at Alisa, who was blushing furiously. "Well, 'Tutor-san,' let's get you out of those wet clothes before you catch your death! You're shivering!"
It was true—Alisa was trembling, whether from cold or the lingering tension from the closet, she couldn't say.
"I couldn't possibly impose—" Alisa started.
"Nonsense! Sora, run upstairs and get one of your mother's old yukatas! And some dry clothes for yourself! Quickly now!"
As Sora bounded up the stairs, Yone leaned in conspiratorially to Alisa. "Between you and me, dear, I haven't seen Sora bring a girl home since... well, ever. You must be very special."
"We're really just classmates," Alisa managed weakly.
"Of course you are. That's why you're both blushing like newlyweds." Yone's smile was knowing. "And that's why you were holding hands when you came through the door."
"We weren't—" Alisa started, then realized with horror that Yone was right. Somewhere during the run from school, Sora had grabbed her hand, and she hadn't let go until they were inside.
Sora returned with a yukata and towels. "Bathroom's upstairs, first door on the right! There's shampoo and everything!"
"Actually," Yone interjected, "why don't you show her properly? Make sure she has everything she needs. And Kujou-san, dear, I insist you stay the night. The storm's getting worse, and it wouldn't be safe to send you home in this weather."
"I couldn't possibly—"
"I won't hear any arguments! You'll stay, take a nice hot shower, and we'll have a proper meal. Sora can lend you some comfortable clothes to sleep in."
"Grandma!" Sora's face was red.
"What? It's the hospitable thing to do!" Yone shooed them toward the stairs. "Now go on, both of you get cleaned up before you catch cold!"
-----
Sora led Alisa upstairs, acutely aware that she was in his house, about to use his bathroom, about to wear his clothes.
"Sorry about my grandmother," he said, opening the bathroom door. "She gets... enthusiastic."
"It's fine," Alisa managed, though her heart was still racing. "She's very kind."
"There's fresh towels here, shampoo, conditioner, soap—everything you should need." Sora was trying very hard not to think about Alisa showering in his bathroom. "Take your time."
Their eyes met for a moment—both remembering the closet, the darkness, the proximity.
"Thank you, Kurumatani-kun," Alisa said softly.
After she closed the bathroom door, Sora stood in the hallway for a moment, his heart pounding.
What is wrong with me? Why can't I stop thinking about—
The sound of running water cut off his thoughts.
He quickly retreated to his room to change into dry clothes.
----
Sora had just finished changing when there was a knock on his door.
"Sora!" Yone's voice called. "I'm sending Kujou-san in! I picked out some of your comfortable clothes for her since her uniform is still wet!"
"Wait, what—"
The door opened, and Alisa entered.
Sora's brain short-circuited.
She was wearing his clothes—a pair of his basketball shorts and one of his oversized hoodies. The shorts were slightly too big, sitting low on her hips. The hoodie was enormous on her smaller frame, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the hem reaching mid-thigh.
Her silver hair was still damp, falling loose around her shoulders instead of its usual perfect styling. Her face was flushed from the hot shower, free of any makeup, looking younger and softer than he'd ever seen her.
She looked... adorable. And somehow incredibly attractive.
"Your grandmother insisted," Alisa said, her voice carrying a hint of embarrassment. She pulled at the oversized hoodie. "She said my clothes needed to be washed and dried, and that I should wear something comfortable."
In Russian, quietly: "Я ношу его одежду. Она пахнет как он. Это слишком интимно..." (I'm wearing his clothes. They smell like him. This is too intimate...)
"You... you look good," Sora managed, then immediately felt his face heat up. "I mean, the clothes look comfortable on you!"
From downstairs, Yone's voice called out: "I'm making tea! You two eat dinner in Sora's room and get to know each other better! I won't disturb you!"
Both of them turned bright red.
"She's subtle," Alisa said dryly.
"She's about as subtle as a brick through a window," Sora agreed.
----
But before they could escape upstairs, Yone insisted on "getting to know" her potential granddaughter-in-law better.
"So, Kujou-san, tell me about yourself!" Yone settled onto the couch with tea, her eyes twinkling with interest. "Where are you from? What do your parents do?"
"I'm half-Russian, half-Japanese," Alisa answered politely. "My father is Russian, my mother is Japanese. They both work in international business."
"How fascinating! And you speak Russian fluently?"
"Yes. It was my first language."
"Wonderful! A bilingual granddaughter-in-law would give us such cultured great-grandchildren!"
"GRANDMA!" Sora nearly choked on his tea.
"What? I'm just thinking ahead!" Yone turned back to Alisa. "And what are your intentions toward my grandson?"
Alisa's face went scarlet. "I... intentions? We're just classmates who—"
"Who spend evenings alone together tutoring. Who run through storms holding hands. Who look at each other when they think the other isn't watching." Yone's smile was warm but knowing. "Dear, I may be old, but I'm not blind."
"Yone-san, I assure you—"
"Do you like him?"
The direct question made Alisa freeze.
In Russian, so quiet: "Я... я не знаю. Нет. Это ложь. Я знаю. Я просто боюсь признать это..." (I... I don't know. No. That's a lie. I know. I'm just afraid to admit it...)
"She does that when she's flustered," Sora said, smiling slightly. "Switches to Russian."
"How sweet! You're already learning her tells!" Yone clapped her hands. "That's very husband-like!"
"We're NOT getting married!" both shouted in unison again.
Yone just laughed. "Not yet, perhaps. But mark my words—" she pointed at both of them, "—within five years, you'll be standing at an altar together. I can see these things."
"Grandma, please—"
"Oh, fine, fine. I'll stop teasing. For now." Yone stood up. "Why don't you two take dinner upstairs? I've prepared some rice balls and tea. Sora, show Alisa your room! I'm sure she'd love to see where you spend your time."
"Is that appropriate?" Alisa asked weakly.
"You're staying the night anyway," Yone said matter-of-factly. "Might as well get comfortable. Besides, I trust my grandson to be a gentleman."
She handed them a tray with food and drinks, then shooed them toward the stairs.
As they climbed, Alisa whispered, "Your grandmother is very..."
"Enthusiastic about granddaughters-in-law?" Sora finished.
"I was going to say 'persistent,' but yes."
----
Alisa entered Sora's room with curiosity. It was surprisingly neat for a teenage boy's room—futon rolled up in the corner, basketball posters on the walls, a small desk covered in notebooks filled with play diagrams and training schedules.
"Your room is cleaner than I expected," Alisa observed.
"My mom taught me to keep things organized," Sora explained, setting the tray down on the low table. "She said discipline off the court builds discipline on the court."
They sat on cushions at the table, the intimacy of the setting not lost on either of them. Alone in his room. Her wearing his clothes. The storm raging outside.
In Russian: "Это опасно. Я должна уйти. Но я не хочу..." (This is dangerous. I should leave. But I don't want to...)
"Russian again," Sora said, smiling. "What did you say?"
"Just... commenting on your discipline. In Russian."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, but Sora kept stealing glances at her. She looked so different like this—relaxed, wearing his clothes, her hair down, sitting in his room.
She looked... at home.
Then Sora remembered something Chiaki had told him weeks ago, during one of their lazy conversations in the locker room.
"Sora, listen to me. If you ever—and I mean EVER—get a girl alone in your room, you need to know the secret. Alcohol. Just a little bit. It relaxes everyone, makes conversation easier. Trust me on this."
At the time, Sora had dismissed it as more of Chiaki's laziness talking. But now...
"Hey, Kujou-san," Sora said, standing up. "I just remembered something."
He went to his closet and pulled out a bottle—sake that his grandmother kept for special occasions, which he'd secretly borrowed once out of curiosity.
Alisa's eyes widened when she saw the alcohol. "Kurumatani-kun... is that sake?"
"Yeah. I thought... I mean, it's a special occasion, right? You're here, the storm is crazy, and..." Sora trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Sorry, is this weird? I just thought it might help us relax."
Alisa's mind raced. He has alcohol. He brought out alcohol. Does this mean he's... experienced with this kind of thing? Is he more mature than I thought? Does he expect...?
She felt her pulse quicken, but she forced herself to maintain composure. She couldn't let him know this was completely new territory for her.
"Of course," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "That's very thoughtful of you. I'd love some."
I'm lying. I've never had alcohol before. But I can't let him think I'm some inexperienced child.
Sora poured two small cups, his hands slightly shaky.
This is fine. Chiaki said this is normal. Just a little to relax. That's all.
They both took a sip.
Alisa managed not to cough, though the burn was stronger than she expected. "Smooth," she lied.
In Russian, barely audible: "Это ужасно. Как люди пьют это добровольно?" (This is terrible. How do people drink this willingly?)
Sora, who'd also never really drunk before, nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Very smooth."
They each took another sip, the alcohol beginning to warm their bodies and lower their inhibitions slightly.
----
Twenty Minutes Later
They'd finished about half the bottle between them, and both were feeling the effects.
The room felt warmer. Their conversation had become easier, more flowing. The careful distance they usually maintained had evaporated.
Sora found himself staring at Alisa more openly—at how the oversized hoodie slipped off one shoulder, at how her hair caught the light, at how her lips curved when she smiled.
And he was feeling something strange. An urge he didn't quite understand.
"Kujou-san," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "Can I... can I ask you something weird?"
"Of course." Alisa's cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, her usual ice-princess demeanor melted into something softer, more vulnerable.
"Would it be okay if I hugged you?"
The question hung in the air.
Alisa's heart skipped. "Hug me?"
"Yeah. I just... I want to hold you. I don't know why. Is that strange?" Sora looked genuinely confused by his own feelings. "Ever since the closet earlier, I've been thinking about... I don't know what I'm feeling."
Alisa's breath caught. The closet. The darkness. The proximity.
"You want to hold me?" she asked softly.
"Yeah. Like... in my arms. Close." Sora looked at his hands as if they were foreign objects. "What is this feeling? Why do I want that so much?"
Before Alisa could respond, Sora moved closer, and suddenly they were sitting side by side, their shoulders touching.
Alisa, emboldened by the alcohol and the intimacy of the moment, made a decision.
She shifted, laying her head down on Sora's lap, looking up at him with a slightly teasing smile.
Sora froze. "K-Kujou-san? What are you—"
"I wanted to use my favorite pillow," Alisa said, her voice carrying a cheeky edge. Her blue eyes were slightly unfocused from the alcohol, but they were locked on his face. "Is that a problem?"
"Your... favorite pillow?" Sora's brain was struggling to process.
"Mmm. Very comfortable." She shifted slightly, getting more settled. "Also, I'm writing in my diary later. About this. About tonight."
In Russian, quietly: "О том, как я лежу на его коленях. Как он смотрит на меня. Как мое сердце готово вырваться из груди..." (About how I'm lying on his lap. How he's looking at me. How my heart is about to burst from my chest...)
Sora's hand moved almost of its own accord, his fingers threading through her silver hair.
The sensation made Alisa's breath catch.
"Then... would it be okay if I held you? Like this? While you sleep?" The words came out before Sora could think about them. "I'll gladly hug you to sleep, Kujou-san."
Alisa's eyes widened. "Really?" she whispered. "You're not joking?"
Sora looked down at her, and something in his expression had changed. The usual innocent confusion was gone, replaced by something calmer, more certain.
"Are you scared?" he asked quietly. "We can sleep separately if you want. I won't force anything."
"I'm not scared," Alisa said immediately. Then, trying to regain some composure: "You're just drunk. You'll regret this in the morning."
Sora's hand, which had been gently stroking her hair, suddenly grasped her wrist. Not hard, but firm.
His expression was serious, his eyes clear despite the alcohol.
"I'm not drunk," he said, his voice low and sincere. "And I won't regret this. I want to sleep holding you, Kujou-san. I want to feel you in my arms. Is that okay?"
Alisa's heart was hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it.
In Russian, so quiet it was almost a breath: "Это то, чего я тайно хотела. Все это время..." (This is what I've secretly wanted. All this time...)
"Yes," she whispered. "I want that too."
Then, slowly, shyly, she opened her arms to him.
Sora didn't hesitate.
He shifted, then dove forward, gathering her into his arms as they fell back onto his futon together.
Alisa's breath left her in a rush as she found herself wrapped in his embrace, her back against his chest, his arms around her waist, holding her close.
Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might explode.
Is this... is this how I'm going to have my first experience? In his arms? In his room? Like this?
She could feel every point of contact—his chest against her back, his arms around her middle, his breath warm against her hair, his heartbeat strong and steady.
It was overwhelming. Intoxicating. Perfect.
"Kurumatani-kun," she whispered. "This is..."
No response.
"Kurumatani-kun?"
Still nothing.
Alisa shifted slightly in his embrace and realized with a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and disappointment:
He was asleep.
Completely, soundly asleep.
His breathing was deep and even, his arms still wrapped around her but his grip relaxed, his face peaceful.
In Russian, to herself: "Он... он заснул. Держит меня в своих объятиях и просто... заснул. Как это возможно?!" (He... he fell asleep. Holding me in his arms and just... fell asleep. How is this possible?!)
She should move. She should get up. This was inappropriate. This was dangerous.
But she didn't move.
Because despite everything—despite the confusion, despite the inappropriateness, despite not knowing what any of this meant—she felt safe. Warm. Right.
So she closed her eyes, let herself sink into his embrace, and allowed herself this one night.
Tomorrow, they could figure out what this meant.
Tomorrow, they could deal with reality.
Tonight, she would just be a girl held in the arms of a boy who made her heart race.
As she drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thought was in Russian:
"Я влюблена в этого идиота. Боже помоги мне..." (am I in love with this idiot? God help me...)
---
Yone climbed the stairs quietly, intending to check on the young couple.
She cracked open Sora's door and found them—Alisa wrapped in Sora's arms, both sound asleep, their breathing synchronized, looking for all the world like they belonged together.
Yone smiled softly, took a photo with her phone (for future grandchildren, of course), then quietly closed the door.
"Five years?" she muttered to herself as she descended the stairs. "More like two. That boy doesn't even know he's already in love."
Outside, the storm continued to rage.
But inside, two hearts had found shelter in each other.