By the second week of May, the air is warming up. Mine and Kai's little ritual no longer feels like a coincidence.
Soccer practice always ends the same, and I never ask where Kai's going. I don't check my phone. We shower in the same rhythm. I dry off, pull on the shirt or sweater I had meticulously picked that morning over damp hair, and head for the Hongo campus. My body already knows the route to this new formula.
His car is parked somewhere different each time. That pretentious BMW, always claiming space, like bait.
Sometimes he waits by the main gate, leaning against it with his arms folded, watching nothing in particular. Sometimes he texts me where he's parked, engine off, window cracked open when I approach. He never waves or calls out. He unlocks the passenger door as I get close, and somewhere along the way, I stopped pausing before getting in.
I really wanted to tell myself it was practical. That would be easy if we both lived in Bunkyo. The day I was finally brave enough to ask whether the favour was out of his way, he said bluntly, "Shibuya." So, he adds an extra twenty minutes to his thirty purely because he's decided he wasn't going to let me walk home? And I let him. I've tried justifying it, making it make sense. It's faster than walking. My legs are usually wrecked by the end of training anyway, and the distance from the athletics stadium to the main gate was long enough. None of that is a lie. It's just not the whole story.
His car always smells clean—like him. The way he uses his cologne sparingly, and how it lingers subtly against the scent of whatever shower gel he uses. The first few rides, I sit stiffly, hands folded against my thighs, staring out the window like I'm worried I'll do something wrong if I look at him for too long. Kai keeps his hands on the wheel, as if driving takes all of his focus.
We didn't talk much at first.
A comment here and there about drills. The coach's tactics. Yuujin missing an open goal. Easy stuff, enough to fill the silence.
But the silence is never awkward.
It feels contained, like it has edges.
The city rushes past us. Convenience stores light up in the evening. I see the reflections move across the windscreen and attempt to ignore how my shoulders relax the longer we drive, how my breathing slows without me even realising it. Whatever I've been holding in all day seems to stay behind once I get in the car.
I don't like how fast I'm getting used to this.
Some nights, Kai pulls up outside my place, puts the car in park, and waits without looking at me. I mumble a thank you, fumble with the door, and step out feeling like I've just left somewhere warm.
Other evenings, he glances over. Just for a split second, as if he's afraid I might catch him—I always do.
I don't know if that's worse.
I have begun to observe patterns in myself before recognising them in him.
I schedule my showers carefully to avoid missing him. I linger a little longer in the locker room on practice days, feigning the need to check my phone while actually listening for his voice and the sound of his locker door. On days when I leave first, my chest tightens suddenly, as if I have lost something vital, a realisation that comes too late.
This inclination subtly influences me, almost embarrassingly.
I don't tell anyone about the rides. Not because they're secret, exactly, but because saying it out loud might make it real in a way I'm not ready for. Yuujin asks once, half-jokingly, if I've suddenly developed a taste for nice cars. I shrug it off. "It's on his way," I lie, to my best friend, to myself.
What I don't say is that the days we don't have soccer practice, and Kai isn't there, they hit harder than they should. The walk home stretches out, every streetlight too bright, every sound too sharp. I catch myself listening for an engine that isn't coming.
I tell myself this is just a habit. That's the word I use. Habit sounds harmless. Habit sounds like something I can break if I want to. But habits don't usually feel like this.
And it's not only Yuujin who has taken note of the space between Kai and me shrinking.
Riku has backed off in a physical sense, but I still find myself catching verbal jabs disguised as banter. Of course, only when he can see me by myself.
"Do you always leave with him?"
"You don't have to pass to Kai every time you get the ball."
"People might start getting the wrong impression. I'm just looking out for you."
Fuck off, Riku.
—
June—2025
The first Monday of June arrives quietly. The ginkgo walk on the Hongo campus is now fully green. Sunlight doesn't hit the ground directly; it filters through, fractured, soft. The air clings to my skin even when I'm not moving.
The day moves on: stuffy lecture halls, students seeking shade under trees during free hours. The sun climbs and presses down by midday, and by the time I make it to practice, it feels like I've been carrying the whole day on my back.
It's early evening after practice, and the locker room feels crammed. My muscles ache, even after my shower; my head is buzzing with notes from my coursework, rehearsals for my piano performance tomorrow, and drills for Friday's soccer match—the silver lining is that the game will be played at home, so there's no need to travel.
Riku is in his usual corner, laughing loudly at something someone else did. He throws insults around like confetti. The sharpness is there. It cuts into me, even when I try to ignore it.
I'm supposed to feel annoyed. Frustrated. Maybe I do, in a small way. Mostly, I feel tired. So fucking tired. I haven't eaten properly since last night, and the thought of reviewing chord progressions or counterpoint before tomorrow's performance makes my muscles ache more.
My phone buzzes.
takato.kai-:
Parked near the Family Mart.
AC is on. Hurry up.
ace-txt:
Yeah, I'm coming
I let my playlist carry me through the agonising walk through the Hongo path. I prefer the evenings when Kai walks it with me instead of rushing to his car. It's not like we even talk while walking. It's different when he's there; it stops me from shutting down on the off chance that he'll say something. Anything.
Kai's car is parked near the convenience store, engine off. I get in and breathe in the familiar scent. I lean back in the seat, and the tension in my legs starts to fade. I attempt to sit up straight, not wanting to get too comfortable.
I feel something cold thump into my lap, sharp enough to make me jerk, a bottle, slick with condensation.
"Drink." Not an offer. A directive. "You were taking forever, and it's hot—so I hit the vending machine."
I turn it in my hands. Just water. Nothing symbolic. Nothing loaded. I tell myself that because it's easier than admitting that I want it to be.
I try to take the cap off, but it's being stubborn, or maybe I'm just that exhausted.
I twist the cap. Doesn't budge. I try again, pushing harder. My grip slips, and my fingers feel numb and awkward. "Here," Kai scoffs, taking the bottle back from me. The cap cracks softly in his hand, and he hands it back. I feel so weak around him. Maybe he thinks I'm pathetic.
"Just drink," he commands like he can hear my thoughts leaking out of my skull, turning the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles and hums.
The car eases into the lane, then stops again.
Tokyo traffic this evening is like holding your breath. Red lights stack atop one another. Brake lights are stopping and starting. My legs ached, but this was the first time I've sat down in hours.
I take a sip of the water. It's colder than I expected, shocking enough to make me swallow too fast. It helps a little. My throat unclenches, but my exhaustion doesn't.
The AC blows steadily, cool air brushing against my still-damp hair. My body registers it as permission.
I sit there and tell myself not to slouch. Don't sink into the seat. Don't get too comfortable. The moment I stop paying attention to my posture, my traitorous shoulders drop anyway. My eyelids feel heavy in a way that isn't dramatic, just inevitable. Gravity is doing most of the work.
We inch forward. Stop. Inch again.
Kai doesn't say anything. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearshift. He drives the way he does everything else: precise, economical, no wasted movement. The radio is low: a news report slips through; something about a rise in anonymous cybercrime across Tokyo, investigations stalled, sources withheld. I don't really listen. The words wash over me without sticking.
Kai scoffs.
"Idiots," he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, and reaches to turn the volume down another notch.
I blink.
My head dips forward an inch before I catch it. I straighten, annoyed at myself, and take another drink of water like it might fix whatever is wrong with me. My phone buzzes in my pocket, some reminder I absolutely don't have the energy to look at, and the vibration feels louder than it should.
I stare out the window instead.
The sky turns orange. My legs ache pleasantly; the sharp edge of fatigue dulled into something almost comforting.
I blink.
This time, my head tips back against the seat.
I jolt upright again, my heart racing as if I've been caught doing something embarrassing. I glance sideways without meaning to.
Kai's eyes flick to me for half a second. He looks neither amused nor judgmental. He's just aware.
"You can sleep," he says, his tone flat.
"I'm not—" I stop myself. The sentence takes too much energy. "I'm fine."
He doesn't argue. He nods once and turns his attention back to the road, merging into another lane that quickly stalls.
I tell myself I'll rest my eyes. That seems like a reasonable compromise. I keep my head upright, chin tucked, and jaw clenched, as if that will somehow keep me conscious. I listen to the engine idling, the soft thump of bass from a car behind us, and the click as Kai adjusts the indicator.
I'm trying so hard not to fall asleep. Not here. My shoulders drop anyway. My eyelids burn, then blur, then refuse to cooperate. Every time my chin dips, I jolt slightly. I feel irritated with myself, pretending I wasn't just seconds away from giving in.
My head tips, slow and unguarded, and comes to rest against the window with a dull, painless knock. The glass is cool. My brain registers it distantly and decides it's fine. Everything feels far away now, softened at the edges.
I'm vaguely aware of the car moving again. Of stopping. Of moving.
Someone says my name. Or maybe I imagine it.
—
When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the light.
It's different. Lower. Slanted through the windscreen instead of glaring straight in. The second thing I notice is the quiet. No engine rumble. Just the soft hiss of the AC.
We're stopped.
For a moment, my brain floats. I don't know where I am—my neck aches. My cheek is cold.
Then I realise Kai hasn't moved.
I blink, vision clearing slowly, and see that he's turned toward me. Not fully. Just enough. His elbow is hooked back against the seat, his posture looser than I've ever seen it. One hand is still on the wheel out of habit, like he forgot to put it anywhere else.
He's looking at me.
Not the blank, distant look he wears most of the time. Not irritation. Not impatience. Something softer. Something unguarded.
For a split second, it feels like I've walked in on something private.
My first thought is that I'm imagining it. That I'm half asleep and projecting. That this is just what Kai looks like when he's tired.
Then our eyes meet.
He looks away instantly.
Too fast.
He clears his throat and straightens, hand tightening on the wheel as if he's about to drive again. The movement feels abrupt, like a door slammed shut.
"You're home." He says in that same flat tone. It's not cold. It's just factual.
I look out the window at the familiar narrow alley, where my apartment building gives way at street level, its tiled facade cut open to form a shadowed parking bay beneath it. Cars tucked inside, half hidden under the weight of the floors above.
I sit up too quickly, heart thudding for no apparent reason. My neck protests. I scrub a hand over my face, suddenly aware that I was asleep. Fully asleep. In his car.
"Oh. Sorry." I mutter. Brilliant. I glance down. The water bottle is still in my lap, half-empty.
Kai notices and lets out a sharp exhale.
"I didn't see you eat lunch."
I blink. "Were you watching me?"
"Just now? No," he murmurs, eyes still fixed forward. "I didn't know how to wake you—"
"No—in the cafeteria. How did you know I didn't have lunch?"
Kai's shoulders stiffen like he's been caught out. He inhales and presses his eyes closed for a heartbeat.
"I just happened to notice, that's all."
That lands heavier than it should.
Kai exhales through his nose again. He reaches, turns off the AC, and pulls his key from the ignition.
"Come on," he says, already opening his door. "I'll walk you up."
"Up?" I echo, stupidly, still groggy.
"To your apartment," He replies like it's obvious, with a hint of a smirk that I've waited far too long to see.
I don't argue. I should.
The evening air is thick and warm as we step out of the car. My legs feel stiff, like I've been folded wrong. Kai locks the car with a chirp that echoes in the quiet of the small alleyway and falls into step beside me, matching my pace instinctively.
My apartment building is wedged between things that feel more permanent than I am. There's a clinic that occupies most of the ground floor, with frosted glass and muted lighting. Above the clinic, there are four more floors. I'm at the very top.
Kai's head moves around like he's assessing the area as we step out onto the main street, turning towards the entrance of my building.
"Tch," He scoffs. "You live next to a 7-Eleven and you still can't find time to eat?"
"I don't like that one. It gets cramped and I don't feel like squeezing past people." My voice trembles when I realise that I might be oversharing. He doesn't need to know that I'm just awkward.
"I'll take care of it next time—" He cuts himself off, "We have a game coming up and you're going to need energy to keep up with me."
"Shut up. I'm fine." I almost sulk.
"You're so stubborn." Kai's voice sounds gruff, not irritated exactly. "You're overworked and not taking care of yourself."
I don't respond. I furrow my brow. He always has a stupid thing to say that makes me feel seen. But I can tell he's so smug about that. He revels in the fact that he can see through me: see when I'm struggling, when I'm overthinking, and now he pays enough attention to know I haven't eaten all day. Yet, his expression is unreadable most of the time. He doesn't give me much to grasp onto. Nothing I can call out in the same way he calls me out. The smirk that used to make my ears hot with anger, I now crave so desperately.
It's not fair because I want more from him. I want to see him the way he sees me. Unravelled.
We move side by side, close enough that I can feel the heat off him, but not close enough to touch. That's the problem. After the way he touched me before, so deliberately and measured, the absence of it feels louder than any contact would.
My hand keeps drifting toward him without my permission.
Not enough to be obvious. Just enough that I'm aware of it, my fingers twitch once, like they're testing the space between us. Like I'm waiting for the slightest excuse; A stumble, a brush, anything that would let me reach out and pretend it wasn't intentional.
The closer we get to my building, the worse it gets.
I want him to do something. Say something sharp. Tease me. Touch my wrist again. Look at me the way he did in the car when he thought I was still asleep. The gaze that looked like he was choosing restraint instead of giving in to something else.
He doesn't.
We step into the lobby of my apartment building, and I press the elevator button repeatedly, as if that will make it come faster.
When the old doors creak open, Kai steps in first and my shoulders brush the wall as I hit the button for the top floor. The door closes with a soft ding, and suddenly the space between us feels smaller than it did outside.
He leans casually against the panel, hands in his pockets, but the tilt of his head keeps him watching me, his expression unreadable. My pulse stutters, and I tell myself I'm just tired.
I shift my weight, trying to make the small space feel normal, but I catch him glancing again, as if timing it so I can't see for more than a fraction of a second. He doesn't look away completely—enough to seem uninterested. It's infuriating.
The floors tick up. One. Two. My fingers curl in on themselves with every click. By the third floor, I'm painfully aware of the narrow space between us. The fourth floor doesn't exist; instead, it's labelled as 3A. Five. The doors slide open, but the spell doesn't break.
We step out into the hall and we stop in front of the door to my apartment.
I fumble with my keys from my pocket, suddenly clumsy. I can feel him behind me now. Not crowding me. But unmistakably there. The air shifts with it. I swear I can feel his attention on my hands as I unlock the door.
The urge hits me so hard it almost knocks the breath out of me.
I want to turn around.
I want to reach back and hook my fingers around his wrist, pull him into my apartment. To see what happens. To see if that control cracks. Just to know I didn't imagine it.
I don't.
I step inside, then hesitate with the door half open before I turn around to face him.
He's looking past me now. Not at my face. At the apartment number on the frame. I watch the moment it registers. Watch him file it away.
The fine hairs prickle on the back of my neck.
"Text me," he mutters as his eyes lock onto me. "After."
"After what?"
"After you eat."
I huff out a weak laugh. "You don't get to—"
"Carbs. Protein. Not just coffee," he adds. "And sleep, you're running yourself into the ground." He steps back before I have a chance to retort. Gives me space like it costs him something. "Goodnight, Ace."
I push the door shut when he turns away.
I stand there with my hand still on the handle, heart beating too fast for such a small moment. Then I lock it, pull the chain onto the latch, lean my forehead against the wood, and exhale.
His scent still lingers and my heart stops when I look through the peephole to see that he's gone.
I kick my shoes off and set them by the door. Then my stomach betrays me with a growl. I hate it when Kai is right. I'm starving.
I eat because he told me to.
That's the excuse I use, anyway. Not hunger. Not the dull ache in my stomach that I've been ignoring since this morning. Just compliance. A leftover instinct to follow instructions when they're delivered like facts.
I make something simple. Rice, an egg, and soy sauce. Nothing that requires thinking. I eat standing at the counter, barely tasting it. When I'm done, I wash the bowl immediately, like that somehow proves this was never a big deal.
In my room, I change into some shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt before I collapse onto the bed. My legs are still humming from practice.
I scroll. Repost a clip of an idol that I like. Like a photo from Yuujin's story. I pause on Kai's profile longer than I should, thumb hovering, then force myself away before I can repeat past mistakes.
I'm not tired enough to sleep yet. Or maybe I am and I'm afraid of it.
My phone buzzes.
takato.kai-:
Thought I told you to get some rest.
My fingers tingle from the buzz of my phone, or maybe it's the jolt of electricity that shocks my nerves every time he texts me.
ace-txt:
i am
im in bed…
My phone buzzes again.
takato.kai-:
Prove it.
I stare at the message like it might dissolve if I ignore it for long enough.
Heat pools in my stomach, sharp and embarrassing. This is stupid. This is a line I shouldn't be standing this close to.
My fingers tremble as I type.
ace-txt:
You're serious?
The reply is instant.
takato.kai-:
Yes.
I tug my blanket away a bit, then hesitate. My bedroom is dim, only the streetlights outside bleeding through the blinds. I angle my phone down, too carefully. The frame catches my legs stretched out on the bed, the rumpled sheets, the edge of my T-shirt bunched at my waist.
I take the picture before I can think better of it.
My thumb hovers.
Then I send it.
The read receipt appears almost immediately.
takato.kai- is typing…
takato.kai-:
Good.
But, you're online. Scrolling.
I roll onto my side, still clutching on to my phone.
ace-txt:
did you install a camera or something…
takato.kai- is typing…
takato.kai-:
Don't tempt me.
I snort despite myself, then immediately feel stupid for smiling.
ace-txt:
I ate btw
since you were monitoring that too
This time, the reply comes slower.
takato.kai-:
Good
Eat like that every day
Sleep before midnight
And don't skip lunch tomorrow
Just like that. Like the topic is closed.
ace-txt:
You don't get to micromanage me…
Bossy.
There's a pause this time. Long enough to make me regret pushing.
takato.kai-:
Then stop letting me notice.
My fingers curl into the sheets before I type again.
ace-txt:
You would notice anyway
I lock my phone and put it under my pillow beside my head, heart still doing something unhelpful in my chest.
The buzz comes again.
takato.kai-:
You talk in your sleep.
Did you know that?
My breath catches.
I sit up slightly, pulse suddenly loud in my ears.
ace-txt:
What?
takato.kai- is typing...
Seconds stretch. My mind races ahead of my body, flipping through possibilities. I don't remember dreaming. I don't remember saying anything. But that doesn't mean I didn't.
takato.kai-:
Relax
Nothing dramatic
That somehow makes it worse.
ace-txt:
What did I say?
I wait long enough to convince myself he's doing this on purpose.
takato.kai-:
You don't remember?
My throat feels dry.
ace-txt:
No.
Another agonising pause.
takato.kai-:
Then I won't tell you
My phone feels too warm in my hand.
ace-txt:
You can't just say that and not explain
takato.kai-:
Go to sleep, Anri.
I stare at the screen, scan several times to make sure my eyes didn't betray me.
Anri.
For a long time, that name felt like something people used against me. It was dragged out in hallways, bent into jokes, written on the walls and stalls in the restrooms, and shouted across classrooms next to cruel slurs. It followed me into places I didn't want to remember. I learned to brace myself the second I heard it. By the time I left high school, it didn't feel like mine anymore. It felt like proof of a version of myself I'd already abandoned.
That's why I chose 'Ace'. It feels clean. Empty in a good way. A name you could grow into without stumbling over everything that came before.
I told Kai not to call me Anri in front of people. I remember the way he looked at me when he said it outside the library at the university. He didn't argue, just stopped when I told him to.
That's what makes this feel different.
He didn't say it out loud. He didn't test it in front of other people. He didn't make a joke out of it. He dropped it quietly, like he knew exactly where it would land and like he knew it was meant only for me.
"Go to sleep, Anri."
Not 'Ace', the version of me that keeps things together and knows how to "perform" being fine.
My reaction comes before I can talk myself out of it. Something close to warmth flutters in my chest, down to my stomach. Just enough to tell me that something has shifted and my body noticed first.
I should be pissed off. I should feel exposed. This should feel like a boundary being crossed too easily.
Instead, I roll onto my side and pull my phone closer, like the warmth of it might soak into me if I let it.
For the first time in years, the name doesn't feel like a bruise.
It feels careful. Like something fragile being held steady, not gripping too hard, not letting go either.
That might unsettle me more than if it hurt.
I look at the message again and I instinctively start sucking on my thumb like it might soothe me.
I start typing with one hand.
ace-txt:
goodnight, Kai
I lock my phone and close my eyes before I can try to convince myself that this didn't mean something.