I wake slowly, surfacing from sleep as though I'm rising through water, every sense catching on the world one at a time.
At first, it's only warmth. A steady, slow heat pressed along my back, the weight of an arm around my waist that feels so right it almost aches.
The room is hushed in that late-morning way. Only the faint suggestion of air moving, and the gentle spill of summer light leaking through the curtains.
If I move, it might dissolve—one of those cruel half-dreams, beautiful for a second, gone the instant I reach for it. My chest cinches tight, bracing for the drop I've come to expect.
Then I feel him breathe.
His breath is so close I feel it against my neck—real, warm, undeniable. This isn't my imagination stitching comfort out of thin air. There's a steady, living presence behind me, solid enough that I almost believe I'm safe here.
Kai stayed.
The thought lands heavy and gentle at once. My head aches in that dull, leftover way, but I'm here. Awake, really awake, enough to know this is real. I let my forehead press into the pillow, trying to quiet the quiver that runs throughout me.
His arm is still there. His hand rests against my side, relaxed but certain, like he's been holding me all night without letting it turn into something else.
Containment, I think, and the word snags in my thoughts. I hate what it says about me. But right now, it feels like safety, like someone drew a fragile line around me and whispered, you don't have to fall off the edge today.
I take a slow breath in.
The air has the scent of laundry detergent, warm skin, along with the faint trace of whatever Kai wears—clean, understated, expensive in a way I can't name. My body reacts like it's been waiting for this, starving, tuning itself to every detail.
I stay still, long enough that my thoughts start to loosen, drifting wherever they want.
The night before tries to surface, uninvited.
Shibuya—too much light, too much noise. That slick, electric sense of danger I should've trusted. A door closing.
A room that wasn't really a room. Just somewhere no stopped meaning anything at all.
My stomach knots anyway, tight and familiar. I shove the memory down, but it still scrapes on the way back.
Kai's arm around me pulls me back to now.
Here. My apartment. My bed.
My heart stutters, unreliable as ever.
I shift a bit, more like a test than a movement. His arm squeezes around me, as if his body reacts before he's fully awake. He lets out a low, rough sound before I expect it, and it feels very unguarded.
He stirs behind me, and I feel his chest rise against my back. His breath changes: it's deeper now and more deliberate, as if he has come to the surface too.
"Anri," he murmurs, voice husky.
Hearing my name like that—quiet, almost defenceless—does something keen and clear to me. My eyes flutter. My throat clenches. I keep my look glued to the edge of the pillow because if I turn too fast, if I see him, I might break apart.
"I'm here," I whisper, like I need to prove it.
He's still for a moment. Then his hand slides, slow and careful, over my side, settling again as if to remind me he's holding me. Not leaving. Not pulling away. It makes all of this feel intentional.
His touch is so small it should be nothing, but it feels enormous, too much to hold all at once.
I let myself turn then.
His eyes are half-lidded with sleep. His hair's a mess—worse than last night—for a second it looks wrong on him, like the world caught him without the armour that he usually wears to keep himself intact.
There's something softer in his face because of it. I feel it in my chest before I understand why, a dull ache I don't have a clean name for.
We stare at each other for a second too long.
I'm suddenly too aware of how close we are. My own breathing sounds loud amid the hush.
My mind starts racing—if I move, if I don't. If I ruin it. If he regrets staying. If this is the moment he remembers who he is…and remembers that I'm just…me.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
The movement is tiny. It hits like a shove. It makes my skin tingle like I'm being watched, like he's assessing, like he's deciding.
I shift again, only a fraction closer, and it doesn't feel intentional anymore. Just the quiet inevitability of distance disappearing—like it was always going to happen this way. There's a part of me that wants this moment to last forever, the other part is screaming to lean in all the way before he can pull away again.
Our noses touch. It doesn't even feel real; I really could be dreaming right now. This is the part where he'd pull away. This is the part where Yuujin bursts through the door and unknowingly kills the moment. But he's here. In my bed.
I don't know how to keep my breathing steady. It's so cruel, the distance is closing by mere millimetres, and I don't know how to stay calm.
I can feel my own heartbeat in my ears. I don't even know which one of us is shifting closer.
Our lips brush—it's feather-light, agonisingly so—I hold my breath because I see his eyes at the moment he feels it.
The murky green eye sharpens first, as if it's already awake and noticing the change. The brown eye remains steady, darker and warmer, almost gentle in a way that makes me want to be reckless just to see if it stays that way.
The brush of our mouths is so light it barely registers as real, and my whole body jolts. My breath catches. Some small, embarrassing sound slips out before I can stop it. I freeze, humiliated, waiting for him to pull back, to look at me like I'm too much.
He doesn't.
His eyes flicker—he felt it too.
He closes the distance inch by inch, slow enough to feel intentional, close enough that the moment stops belonging to either of us. It feels less like an action and more like a test—one neither of us knows how to fail.
Kai's mouth brushes mine again, and he finally presses a certain kiss to my lips—just once—before pulling away a fraction.
A choice.
I answer without thinking.
My hand lifts, trembling, and rests against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm. It's steady, but it isn't calm. It's like he's holding himself in place.
The kiss is soft and achingly tender.
It stays soft for so long that my thoughts start to float; I can't tell where my breath ends, and his begins. It's maddeningly gentle, like we're letting the moment stretch before it stops being fragile.
My head is spinning, but none of the thoughts quite land. I don't know who's leading—and for once, I don't even care.
I only know this feeling isn't new. It's been there since the moment his eyes found mine in that locker room back in high school.
I let out a faltering breath, and he exhales against my mouth in answer. The sound is tiny, but it gives me butterflies.
My body leans in before my head catches up. My fingers curl in his vest like I'm afraid he'll vanish if I don't grip something.
He deepens it by degrees. Not suddenly. Not like a switch flipping. A little more pressure. A little more closeness. His hand shifts on my side, thumb stroking a small, absent stroke that makes me go still again.
Something hot coils low in my stomach. It feels unfair how fast my body decides.
I make another sound, a stupid, low hum into his mouth, and it embarrasses me even as it pours out of me. Because it feels good. Because it's him. Because I've wanted this for so long in that half-denied way that turns your own thoughts into a trap.
Kai makes a sound back, almost too quiet to catch, caught at the back of his throat, raw and unguarded.
It isn't polished. It isn't controlled.
It's real enough that it makes my heart skip a beat.
The kiss turns heavier, still slow, still careful, but suddenly full of heat. My mouth opens on a breath, and his follows it like we're learning the shape of this at the same time. There's a brief, dizzy brush of tongue, unhurried and tentative, and it sends a warm rush throughout me so hard I have to grip his shirt to stop myself from shaking.
My chest feels too small for my lungs.
My thoughts smear into sensation. The softness of his mouth. The warmth. The fact that he tastes like nothing but sleep and clean air and something quietly sharp underneath, as if restraint has its own flavour.
I tilt my head, chasing him, and he lets me. He lets me be greedy in tiny increments. He meets me halfway, then a little more, then a little more, like he's giving himself permission one breath at a time.
His grip at my side turns firmer.
Not enough to hurt. Enough to make my skin sing.
The pressure makes something in me go molten. My breath breaks, and I feel it against his mouth. The sound is humiliating and sweet all at once, like my body is admitting the truth out loud.
Heat climbs fast. My whole body responds like it knows what this is supposed to become, even if my brain is still lagging behind. My fingers are still clutching at his shirt, and when he shifts closer, when his chest presses into mine, the contact makes me dizzy.
It's not even skin. It's fabric and warmth and pressure.
It feels obscene anyway, like wanting is something I have to apologise for.
His breath turns rougher, the controlled rhythm breaking in small places. He kisses me like he's still being careful, like he's still holding the line, but the hunger is there now. It's threaded through the gentleness like wire.
His thumb strokes my side again, absent, possessive, and I almost lose my mind over something that small.
I slide my hand down the line of his ribs, light enough to be almost accidental, just to see if he'll flinch, just to see if he'll permit me. The edge of his shirt lifts a fraction under my fingertips.
Kai's breath stutters.
The sound he makes is low and involuntary, like it slipped out before he could catch it.
It slams into my chest, hard and bright and impossible to hide from.
My own mouth opens on a quiet, breathy sound, and the fact that I'm making that noise because of him makes my head spin. I want to crawl out of my skin. I want to press closer. I want to swallow the sound back down and pretend I didn't make it.
Kai stills, and for a moment, the kiss threatens to tip.
His forehead dips close, almost touching mine. His lips hover. His eyes look darker now, more awake, more focused.
"Slow down," he says, rough, breathy.
My heart lurches. Panic flares hot and immediate, as fast as a match striking. I hate how quickly my mind turns it into rejection. I hate how the old reflex tries to slam into place.
"Did I—" My voice cracks. I swallow hard, throat strained. "Did I do something wrong?"
His eyes lock on mine, sharp and steady even amid the haze. "No," he says immediately, like he won't let that thought live in the room. His hand stays at my side, warm, anchoring. "No. The opposite."
The way he says it, quiet and honest, makes my chest ache so badly it almost hurts to breathe.
His gaze dips to my mouth again, and when he looks back up, there's something raw there, something that makes me want to look away and keep my eyes locked to his face at the same time.
"I don't want to lose control," he says.
The honesty in it makes my face burn.
"I thought you wouldn't be this careful…" The words come out softer than I mean them to, like I'm confessing something I shouldn't, like I'm admitting I expected him to be a different kind of cruel.
Kai doesn't look away.
If anything, his focus sharpens. Like the honesty in my speech pinned him in place.
His hand shifts, and his thumb glides along my lower lip almost absentmindedly, like he's tracing the shape of what he just did, like he needs the contact to stay bound to the moment.
"I've never…" He stops. His breath catches once, sharp. His jaw works like it's hard to say anything out loud. "I've never done this."
The room feels too quiet for the words.
My heart stutters.
"Done this," I echo, stupidly, like my brain needs specifics. My voice comes out thin. "Been with a guy before?"
His thumb stills.
His eyes flicker, not away, but inward, like he's bracing for impact. When he speaks, his voice is low and careful, stripped down to the truth.
"I've never been with anyone," he says. A pause before he exhales, like he's making himself keep going. "Never kissed. Never… anything."
My breath catches so sharply it hurts.
The words hit like a shockwave, not because they're unbelievable, but because they rewrite all I assumed I knew about him in an instant. The distance. The carefulness. The way he watches, like he's starving but refuses to take.
He watches my face like he's waiting for the verdict.
"You look surprised," he says quietly.
I am.
I'm completely fucking bewildered.
Heat rushes to my face so quickly it's embarrassing. My mind races, replaying countless small moments where I thought he must be experienced, untouchable, and perhaps has done this with someone else before, because how else could he be like this?
I can't hold his gaze. I can't hold myself together.
I shove my face into his chest as if I can hide there, like the warmth of him will swallow me completely and spare me from having to be a person for a second. The movement is abrupt, messy, and his arm braces me instantly, not trapping me, just catching me.
"I'm sorry," I blurt, muffled up against his shirt. "I'm— I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed. I just—" My utterance cracks with frustration at myself. "In my head, you were… I don't know. I thought you'd—" I swallow hard, mortified. "I'm sorry."
His hand shifts, slow, anchoring. His fingers slide into my hair for a second, and I go still, like my body recognises the gentleness before my mind can.
Kai's thumb starts moving again, slow, barely there, like he's holding onto the smallest touch to keep himself steady in the moment.
"If you think I'm being careful because I don't want you," he murmurs, and it's almost a laugh, except there's no humour in it. "Anri… I'm being careful because I do."
My throat clenches painfully.
"I don't… let people get close," he says, like it's a fact, like it's carved into him. His thumb presses a little more firmly against my lip, and there's the smallest vibration in his hand. "I can't. Not like that. Not without it turning into something I can't take back."
His gaze lifts to mine again, steady, too present.
"But I want you close," he says, gently now, like it's the part he hates himself for admitting. "And I don't trust what I'll do if we rush."
The words land in me like a bruise and a blessing, tenderness edged with fear.
My chest feels tight in a different way now, not panic, not shame. Something worse. Something tender.
I pull back just enough to look at him, and my hand finds his wrist without thinking, fingers encircling it like a plea.
"Then don't rush," I whisper. My voice shakes. "Just… don't stop."
His eyes hold mine.
For a second, he doesn't move at all, like he's deciding whether to be good.
Then he leans in again.
Not fast. Not hungry.
Careful, like he promised.
His mouth returns to mine with a softness that warms my cheeks, and then, slowly, he adds heat back in, testing it the way you test water with your fingertips before you step in.
A little more pressure. A little more insistence. His hand at my side slides around my waist, pulling me closer in a way that makes my brain go blank.
It isn't rough.
It feels like being claimed, even if it's gentle. Maybe especially because it's gentle.
The kiss deepens again, and my body answers as if it's been waiting. My fingers curl in his shirt. My knees draw closer without me thinking, and the closeness makes my breath catch.
Our legs tangle, skin against skin; I want to press into him so badly, it almost hurts.
Kai makes a low sound against my mouth, and it's so unguarded it makes my head spin.
He kisses me like he's trying to learn me and restrain himself at the same time. Like he's terrified of what wanting does to him.
His thumb finds my jaw. He tilts my face, just slightly, and the movement is so controlled it makes my skin prickle. He kisses the corner of my mouth, then my lips again, slow, maddening, like he's mapping.
My breath comes out broken.
My fingers slide up, into his hair.
It's messy, soft, heartbreakingly human.
The moment I touch him there, his entire body goes rigid.
Then his hand tightens at my waist.
The kiss turns hotter in an instant, still slow, still careful, but charged now, like something finally snapped into place. His mouth presses harder. His breath turns rougher. He kisses me like he's holding back with his teeth clenched.
I feel it. The restraint.
It makes me dizzy.
The moment his tongue finally, finally slides against mine properly, I lose the ability to think.
It's slow at first—just a teasing brush, hot and damp—and my entire body jerks like I've been shocked. He chases the reaction, pressing deeper, tasting me like he's been starving for it.
I whimper into his mouth.
His tongue drags against mine—wet, deliberate—and I shudder, fingers tightening in his hair. His breath is ragged against me, his grip bruising on my waist, and fuck, the way he licks into my mouth—
—like he wants to ruin me with it.
Every slick slide sends heat pooling low in my stomach, until I'm squirming, until I'm desperate. He growls—a low, rough sound—when I try to pull him closer, he bites my lip in warning before his tongue curls against mine again.
His hand on my waist slides up, slowly, fingers skimming up my ribs. Even through my shirt, the touch makes me shiver, and I feel his gaze darken as he watches my reaction.
"You're gonna make me—" he murmurs against my mouth, voice low, almost a whisper.
My eyes flutter shut.
"Kai—"
"Look at me," he commands, hand splaying against my back, pulling me closer. My eyes snap open at his demand, and I'm met with his hungry, mismatched eyes piercing into mine.
I surge forward and kiss him again because I don't want to think. My fingers card through his hair before my grip tightens, like he might dissolve if I don't.
There's a heartbeat where we're pressed so tight I can feel every line of him—the hard planes of his chest, the sharp cut of his hips.
I'm lost in the moment, my eyes close again, feeling the shape of his tongue in my mouth. It's intoxicating. My hips roll into his before I can think better of it.
His hand stays on me—bruising now—like he can't bring himself to let go completely.
Kai pulls back from the kiss—lips swollen and wet, eyes half-lidded—and I let out a soft noise in protest.
"Fuck," he grits out, voice wrecked. His eyes are wild. "Anri."
My name sounds akin to a warning and a prayer at the same time.
I'm breathing hard. I hate it. I love it. My fingers are still in his hair, and I can perceive the tension in him under my fingertips, like he's a wire pulled too tight.
"I'm here," I whisper again.
His eyes flick to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
"Good," he says, clipped, and the word hits like an order that makes my whole body respond.
His forehead dips close, almost touching mine. His breath is uneven. His hand stays at my waist like he doesn't trust himself to let go.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he says again, quieter, like he's saying it for the part of me that still wants to apologise out of habit.
Something in me unclenches.
I nod, small, because my voice will betray me if I try to speak.
He holds my gaze for a heartbeat longer, then, as if he needs one last tether to keep himself controlled, his thumb skims my lower lip again.
"Drink Water," he says, procedural again.
The command should annoy me.
It doesn't.
It makes me feel safe, and that scares me more than anything.
I swallow, throat tense, and give him the smallest nod.
He watches me like he means it.
And the heat between us doesn't fade. It just settles, humming under my skin, not finished, not resolved, just real.
He stayed.
And now he's looking at me like he intends to keep doing that.
"Water," he repeats, rough, like it's the only word he trusts himself to say.
But his fingers tighten on my hip anyway—contradicting the order—as if his body refuses to obey the restraint he's demanding of it.
My breaths are still trembling, pulse is still hammering, and I slowly pull back—just enough to reach for the glass on my desk. His grip loosens, fingertips dragging across my skin like he's reluctant to sever the contact.
I take a shaky sip, but my throat is too tight to manage more than a shallow swallow.
I can feel him watching every movement like it's a test.
Like he's fighting not to take the glass from me and claim my mouth again—water and all. I can tell from the way he's breathing; I can hear his breath stutter just like mine.
"Better?" he asks, voice low like he's at least pretending he's still in control of himself. I shouldn't find that so attractive.
The air between us hasn't cooled. If anything, it feels heavier now—hotter—like the pause only stoked the embers higher.
His exhale is slow, deliberate, as if he's steadying himself. But his gaze doesn't waver—locked onto mine—and the way he looks at me…
He's barely holding on.
The thought sits in my chest and I take another sip of water because I don't want to do something stupid with my hands.
I'm so hyper-aware of him looking, my body shouldn't loosen from his gaze, but it does. Kai's stare—the look, the smirk, all of it—I'd been telling myself it got under my skin, and it's true, just not the way I had tried to convince myself. His stare gets under my skin because it's containment laced with comfort. If it were anyone else, I'd feel disturbed, but it's Kai. When he watches me, it's intentional, like he decided not to let me fall apart.
I set the glass down before my hands start shaking again. The rim clicks softly against the desk, and the sound is too loud in the quiet.
Kai's gaze flicks to the glass, then back to my face. He doesn't ask if I'm okay. He already knows I'm not. He doesn't soothe. He manages.
"Good," he says.
He says it like I did what I was supposed to do, and now he's praising me for it. A sick thrill rushes through me; I can't stop my body from responding as if obedience is intimacy—like my body learned the rules before I ever agreed to play. Worse still, I don't even hate it. That's the part I try not to think about.
My body is still reacting like it's mid-kiss. Like the air between us is still hot even though nothing is happening. Like I can still feel his hand on my waist and the pressure of his mouth, and the moment he stopped, not because he didn't want me, but because he did.
It makes me want to reach for him again just to prove it wasn't a dream.
It makes me want to stay perfectly still so I don't break whatever this is.
"Anri," Kai's voice cuts through my spiral. I flinch like I've been caught red-handed, as if my thoughts have leaked out of my skull, and now he knows how affected by the kiss I actually am.
I can't even answer; I make a weak noise that could be interpreted as a response.
"What are you thinking about?" He asks, and it sounds like curiosity mixed with concern.
What do I even say to that?
Don't disappear.
Please kiss me again.
Do you regret this already?
"I—" I start, it was easier last night, when my inhibitions were stripped away by the remnants of alcohol, and now it's like I've opened the floodgates of being honest, I can't exactly try to lie about my feelings now. "I was thinking about…you." My voice comes out thin. I don't know how to be brave like last night. I don't know how not to pretend that I'm okay and that nothing ever really bothers me. "I've never done this before either." Is all I can manage.
"I know," Kai says. "Anri, look at me. Nothing is going to happen unless you want it to." I do want it to happen, and that's the most terrifying fucking thing in the world. My face immediately feels warm. I'm overwhelmed, overstimulated, completely out of my depth. I can't even keep eye contact; one more sharp pin of his gaze and I'm going to actually break. "You're shaking."
I swallow hard, my eyes stinging. "I'm—sorry," I start, already bracing.
"Don't apologise," Kai says immediately. "Stop trying to be brave."
The words land heavier than anything else he could've done. I don't fight it when my shoulders finally sag.
I'm not even overwhelmed because kissing is too much to handle. It's the fact that I liked it in a way that felt right. It's not even like I have anything to compare it to. It felt so good that I'm scared he's going to disappear and deny me the chance to feel like that ever again.
Kai doesn't move to touch me. He just watches me for a second longer, like he's deciding something and doesn't want to say it out loud yet.
Then he stands. The mattress shifts, the warmth behind me gone, and a lump forms in my throat before I can stop it—a stupid, instinctive flare, like my body still thinks distance means being left.
He doesn't look back when he crosses to my desk. He picks up his phone, calm as ever, thumb moving in quick, familiar taps.
Everything he does feels intentional now, like he's quietly putting things back in place around me, one careful step at a time, so I don't fall apart while I'm sitting right here.
He comes back to bed instead of staying by the desk. He sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel him there without him crowding me and angles the screen so I can see it.
"Food," he says.
My eyes drop to the phone like it's something I'm allowed to look at. Kai scrolls without asking what I want, thumb moving in short, efficient taps like he's already decided what my body needs. It's domestic in a way that makes my stomach twist—cute and unsettling at the same time.
A banner flashes across the top of the screen.
Before I can read it, Kai swipes it away.
Too fast. Too practised.
My pulse jumps. "Who's that?"
Kai doesn't look at me. His eyes stay on the screen, calm, controlled. "A family friend."
The answer should be boring. It isn't.
Because my brain snags on something half-remembered—elevator lights too bright, my head lolling, Kai's phone in his hand, a name I couldn't place.
Happy birthday, Kai-Kun.
"Saitō," I say, quietly.
Kai doesn't look up. He finishes tapping out the order like nothing interrupted him, then confirms it with one last press. Only when the screen changes does he set the phone down on my desk, face down, like he's closing something I'm not meant to see.
Then he looks at me.
There's nothing dramatic in his expression. No guilt. No panic. Just that steady, unreadable calm—the kind that always makes me feel like I'm overreacting, even when I know I'm not.
"A family friend," Kai reaffirms.
The words should reassure me. Family friend sounds like history. Like access. Like whole parts of Kai's life I don't get to touch.
My mouth goes dry. I try to keep my voice casual. I fail.
"Why is a family friend messaging you like that?"
Kai holds my gaze a moment too long. It's not a glare. Not anger. Just patience stretched thin enough to serve as a warning.
"He helps," Kai says.
"Helps with what?"
His jaw clenches—just once. I almost miss it. His eyes flick away, brief and instinctive, toward my balcony door, the cracked windows, my room that he's been quietly managing around me.
When he looks back, it feels like he's already decided how much he's willing to say.
"Things."
I huff a laugh that doesn't have any humour in it. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting right now," Kai replies, voice even.
Right now.
My pulse jumps. The phrase is a crack, and my brain immediately wedges itself into it.
I know I should stop. I know I should let it go. But the kiss has changed my sense of entitlement, and I hate it. I hate that I want to know things about him now, like I'm allowed.
My mouth goes dry. I try to keep my voice casual.
"I was drunk," I add quickly, defensive already. "In the elevator. I saw a text over your shoulder. I think." My throat tightens as I say it—the embarrassment of admitting how closely I must've been watching him even then. "He said… 'Happy birthday, Kai‑Kun.' He was with you at the bar, wasn't he?"
The air changes. Not sharply. Just enough that I notice.
Kai's gaze stays on my face, steady and unreadable, but something in him goes still—like I've brushed against something live.
"You remember that?" he asks.
My face burns. "Barely," I rush out. "It was just—it was there, and I happened to see it…that's the only reason I found out it was your birthday yesterday."
Kai watches me for a moment longer, then exhales slowly through his nose. Controlled. Like he's swallowing something back.
"He's been around a long time," Kai says at last. "He was a friend of my father."
"Kai-Kun," I repeat, and the way it sounds on my tongue makes my stomach twist. Too familiar. Too intimate. It belongs to someone who's known him longer than I have any right to. But that somehow doesn't stop me. "What about your father? Do you still talk to him? You've never mentioned your parents before."
"Food will be here soon. You're going to eat." Kai closes the subject with authority and logistics in mind. He doesn't let me dwell or linger.
"You're so—"
"Bossy?" Kai cuts me off with that fucking smirk. He leans in just enough that I feel his breath brush my cheek, like he's replacing the weight of the conversation with the weight of his body. "Say it like it's a problem."
All I can think is: you're playing with fire.
Now I know how I can make him react; I could kiss him until his control snaps.
The buzzer to my door rings.
The sound is harsh in the hush of my apartment—too loud, too normal. It cuts straight through whatever we were holding.
My entire body jolts before I can think. Not fear. Something closer to being caught—like the universe just stepped into the room and cleared its throat.
Kai stills.
It's so subtle that I nearly miss it, but my body feels it. Something in him changes, quiet and fast, like a switch flipping back into place behind his eyes. The smirk stays. It just gets smaller, as if he's trying to conceal it.
He leans back slightly, putting some space between us. It's not enough to seem like he's leaving; it's just enough to remind me that he could. His gaze wanders to the door and then back to me. Calm returns to him in careful layers.
"Food," he says.
Of course, he turns it procedural, like he's sanding down the edge of what almost happened.
The buzzer sounds again, impatiently.
Kai's hand lifts—then stops. For a second, it looks like he's about to reach for my face again, before he remembers there's still a world outside my bedroom. His fingers curl in on themselves and drop to his thigh instead, controlled.
"You stay," he says, voice clipped. Not a request.
I nod before my pride can react. My body responds too quickly; it hears stay and relaxes. My pulse is loud. The air still feels tense.
Kai approaches the intercom as if nothing happened. He seems calm and focused, already wearing his mask again.
The buzzer sounds again. It crawls under my skin.
"Yeah," he says. He presses the button, buzzes, and unlocks the door.
Kai comes back with the bag like it weighs nothing. The smell hits first: hot rice, salt, something grilled. My mouth reacts before I do, which annoys me.
He sets it on my desk and starts unpacking without a word. Containers. Chopsticks. Napkins folded once, neat. A bottle of water placed beside it, like he's done this before.
Like this is just what you do when someone's running on empty.
He doesn't make a big deal of it. That's what makes it intimate. The lack of ceremony.
Kai glances at me once. Not checking if I'm grateful. Checking if I'm present.
"Eat," he says.
Just once.
The word sticks. Like it was never really up for debate.
My hands move before I decide anything. Chopsticks. Grip.
I don't correct it. I don't slow down.
I want him deciding for me.
—
When the light shifts into dusk, the apartment starts to look like somewhere I actually live.
Kai cleans up like it's automatic. He doesn't ask where anything goes. He just moves through my apartment, gathering containers, rinsing chopsticks, wiping the desk with a neatly folded paper towel without thinking.
He picks my towel up off the floor and hangs it properly. Finds my laundry basket without looking.
Like he's been here longer than he has.
It's worse because he looks so casual: borrowed shorts hanging low on his hips, black vest clinging to his torso for dear life. It's the fact that he looks like that in my space. It shouldn't be hot. My eyes shouldn't be glued to him and the way the fabric rides up his body when he reaches for something.
At one point, he lifts my shirt from the floor—my stupid crumpled shirt from last night—and folds it once before dropping it into the basket like it's nothing. Like he didn't have his mouth on mine a few hours ago. As if he isn't the reason my hands shake when I pick up a glass.
I can't help the warmth that travels through me. He didn't just stay the night and leave. He's been here all day, like he doesn't want to leave me while I'm feeling raw from last night.
By the time the sky turns dark, Kai smokes a cigarette out on the balcony, and I can't help but stare at him through the glass. He looks obscene with his hair all messy, half-dressed, smoking out there like he's lived here longer than me.
He looks so lost in thought that he won't even know that I'm watching him.
He stubs his cigarette out and slides open the balcony door. I try to act normal, like I wasn't just staring at him smoking, but then my curiosity spikes because he looks way too serious. "Anri," It makes my stomach flutter again. "I want to talk to you about something."
Those words: I want to talk to you.
It's that ominous uncertainty because Kai doesn't talk about things. He issues directives, bosses me around, manages and fixes things.
My brain is already supplying the worst possibilities.
"Am I…in trouble?" I ask, reflexively.
"What? No. It's about Akio," he says, "Only if you're comfortable."
Akio's name makes my stomach turn, but Kai is the only person I can trust with this. He was the only person at that bar who gave enough of a shit to do something to stop it, to get me home, to not take advantage.
"Mm," I nod my head. "Yeah," because I refuse to be weak because of a man who knows better than to lure students to some shady fucking bar.
"If you tell me to stop. I'll stop, okay?" Kai says as he sits on the bed next to me, not enough to crowd me or get close, enough to make me want to reach out and make sure he's still real. I shift closer anyway because I can't do this alone. "I want to know what you want to happen."
My tongue sticks to my teeth.
"Want to happen?"
"Do you want to report it?" Kai says, voice low and procedural.
Police, forms, questions, someone asking what I wore, how much I drank, why I didn't leave sooner.
I shake my head before my mouth can betray me. "No."
"Why?" he asks, not judgmental. Just… precise.
Because I'm ashamed, I think. Because I'm scared. Because I don't want strangers touching it. Because I don't want to be a story.
Because I don't want anyone looking at me the way those men would have looked at me if Kai hadn't been there.
"I don't want…" My voice breaks on nothing. I clear my throat, furious at myself. "I don't want to talk to strangers about it."
Kai nods once, as if he expected that.
"Okay," he says.
The ease of it makes me blink. He isn't pushing. He isn't lecturing me about what's right. He's accepting my answer as if it matters.
"I just… I want him to leave me alone."
Kai's eyes lock on mine. "He will."
The certainty in his voice makes my stomach flip with relief and dread in the same breath.
"How do you know that?" I ask, my voice comes out sharp, close to an accusation.
Kai's jaw works once before he smooths it out immediately. "Because I'm telling you," he says. He watches me for a moment, then shifts. "How did you end up there? At the bar."
I pick at the hem of my shirt, avoiding his eyes. It shouldn't be shameful to be lonely and reckless and eighteen. "It was… supposed to be lunch. Then he changed it. I told him I'm not supposed to drink, but he kept pushing me." Then, because I feel like I have to justify myself or at least try to be honest, "I tried to tell him to stop. I didn't even know what I was doing. I wanted to…" It's like my mouth is moving before I can think better of what I'm trying to say. "I was upset…with you, so I retaliated by trying to go on dates, but I never wanted anything to happen; I wasn't going to do anything."
Kai doesn't get offended, doesn't react in a strong way, he just nods as if he understands.
"Anri, I'm sorry." His gaze doesn't soften; he looks focused. "I'm sorry I made you feel like that. For getting closer to you, and then… distancing myself. It's not because of anything you did, I hope you know that."
I'm completely stunned. Kai is unapologetic about every aspect of himself. I almost want to just leave it there, accept it and forgive him. It means everything, but I'm also confused.
"Kai… why? Why did you always make a move and then pull away?"
He exhales slowly as if he's been pinned by my question. "Well…" he leans toward me, his voice almost a murmur. "You already know I've been watching you all this time. Watching was enough at first. Then I wanted more, wanted any reason to be close to you, any reason to keep you in my sight. But it's never enough." Kai grips onto the sheets. "Every time I touched you…The more unbearable it was. I'm not…good for you, Anri. I only tried to distance myself to protect you."
"Protect me from what?" I ask quickly.
"Me."
The word lands like a door slamming.
For a second, I just stare at him, stupidly, like my brain is trying to process how someone can say something so honest and still look so controlled. Kai's hand is clenched in the sheets. His shoulders are tight. His mismatched eyes don't flinch.
You don't get to decide if you're good for me.
And then I do the worst possible thing.
I lean in.
Not careful. Not polite. Not giving him room to retreat into logistics and rules and eat your food, drink your water. I close the distance like I'm done waiting for him to make it survivable.
"Kai," I whisper, and it comes out raw.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Something in him breaks.
He grabs me.
It isn't gentle. It isn't measured. His hand catches the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair like he's claiming the only part of me he can anchor to, and he drags me in with a force that steals the breath right out of my lungs. The kiss crashes into me—hot, open, unrestrained—like he's done pretending he can keep it contained.
My mouth opens on a gasp and he takes it.
It's nothing like this morning. There's no careful pressure. No testing. No slow building. It's all hunger, all heat, all the control he's been holding back turning into something physical and immediate. His mouth is rougher, deeper, his tongue pushing in like he's trying to erase the words he just said from his own throat.
Like he'd rather drown in me than sit in that truth.
I make a sound that embarrasses me the second it leaves my chest, and it only makes him pull me closer. His grip tightens in my hair, not yanking, just firm enough that my whole body understands: stay.
He kisses me like he's trying to bruise the feeling into me.
My hands fly up without thinking. One fist twists in the fabric of his vest, the other digs into his shoulder like I need something solid to hold onto. He's warm and hard and real, and the pressure of him knocks my thoughts sideways. I can't think. I can barely breathe.
His mouth moves against mine in a rhythm that's almost violent, teeth catching my lower lip, a sharp sting that makes my stomach drop. I gasp and he uses it, tongue sliding in deeper, stealing the sound like he wants it. Like he's angry at himself for wanting it.
The kiss is messy. It's wet. It's too much.
It's perfect.
I try to kiss him back properly, to match him, to keep up, but he doesn't let me set the pace. He tilts my head with his hand, controlling the angle, taking what he wants like he can't stop himself anymore. His breath is rough against my face, his chest rising fast, and the fact that he's losing the smoothness makes me feel dizzy.
He's not supposed to lose control.
He is.
My entire body lights up in response. Heat floods low and hot, spreading through me so fast it makes my legs go weak. I shift closer, desperate, and Kai makes a sound into my mouth like it tears out of him. His hand slides from my hair to my jaw, thumb pressing hard enough to make my lips part wider, and he kisses me like he's punishing us both for every time he pulled away.
For every time he told himself watching was enough.
It isn't enough. It was never enough.
The bed creaks when he pushes me back. His weight follows, crowding my space until there's nowhere left for me to go except into him. My back hits the mattress and he's above me, braced on one arm, the other still holding my face like he needs to keep me exactly where he wants me. One knee slides between mine, widening me just enough that I can't pretend I'm not affected. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp, stupid sound.
His mouth doesn't leave mine.
He kisses me harder, deeper, tongue dragging against mine in slow, ruthless strokes that make my whole body shudder. The sound of it is obscene in the quiet room, wet and breathless, and I can't stop the noises I make—small, broken, humiliating sounds that he seems to want, because his grip tightens in my hair every time I slip.
I claw at his vest, pulling him down, and he lets out a low, wrecked breath like I hit something raw. His hips press closer, just the weight of him, and I go rigid for a heartbeat from the sudden awareness of how close this could tip.
Kai doesn't pull away.
He swallows my breath again like he's decided he'd rather burn than stop.
My tongue tangles with his, desperate, and he responds like he's been waiting for me to stop being careful. He kisses me like he's starving. Like the restraint has been hurting him and he's finally allowed to bite down.
My hands slide into his hair, gripping, and he makes another sound—rough, involuntary—then kisses me even harder, like that did something to him he can't undo. His teeth catch my lip again, not enough to hurt badly, enough to make my body sing. I gasp, and he takes the gasp and turns it into another kiss.
Everything in me is hot.
Everything in me is want.
My brain tries to panic—this is too much, this is dangerous—and my body answers with a different truth: don't stop. don't stop. don't stop.
Kai breaks the kiss for half a second, just long enough that I feel the loss like a slap.
"Anri," he says, voice shredded.
The way he says my name makes my stomach flip.
I try to speak. I can't. My lips are swollen. My throat is tight. All I can manage is a shaky inhale.
Kai's gaze flicks over my face like he's checking for something—panic, fear, refusal—and when he finds none, something in him goes feral.
He kisses me again.
He eats the sound I make like he's been waiting for it all day, like it's the only thing that can keep him from thinking about what he just admitted. His grip shifts back into my hair and this time it's possessive in a way that makes my whole body go still, then melt. He holds me there and kisses me like he's trying to make "me" mean something other than a warning.
Like he's trying to make it mean mine.
And then he pulls his mouth away from mine and kisses down my throat, as if he can't stand being that close to my words. He can't bear to hear his own confession echoing in the room.
His lips press against the side of my neck. They feel hot and deliberate.
I freeze.
My body reacts as if my skin has learned his language faster than my mind has. My hands grab at his shoulders, my fingernails digging in. I need something to hold onto that isn't my own trembling.
Kai breathes against my throat, rough and uneven. His hand tightens in my hair, not yanking but just firm enough that my body knows what to do without him saying it.
He moves his hips slowly and carefully. The pressure of him against me makes my spine arch before I can stop it. It's over fabric and layers between us, and it still feels like a shock. The friction cuts through everything and ignites something inside me that has been starving since I met him.
I make a sound I immediately hate myself for.
Kai's mouth lifts from my neck just enough that he can speak against my skin.
"Look at me."
The command lands low in my stomach. I force my eyes open, blinking up at him like I'm drowning. His eyes are dark. Focused. Wild around the edges in a way that makes me feel both safe and in danger.
"If you say stop," he says, his voice strained, "I will stop."
The sentence feels too careful for how he's holding me. It shouldn't make my chest ache, but it does.
I swallow. My throat is tight. My hands are still clenched in his vest like a prayer.
"I don't want you to stop," I whisper.
Something flashes in his expression—quick, hungry, almost angry—like my answer is both permission and a punishment.
"I mean it," he says, quietly.
Then he moves again.
This time, he presses down harder, dragging his cock against mine through the layers of fabric with slow, ruthless intent. It's as if he's choosing the exact amount he can allow himself. He's keeping it just this side of losing control, and it's driving him crazy.
It's driving me crazy.
My hips jerk up instinctively, chasing it, grinding up into him because my body is past shame now.
I can't stop it.
Kai makes a sound—a rough, involuntary exhale that turns into something darker—then drops his mouth back to my throat like he's trying to drown his own reaction.
His teeth graze my skin.
I gasp, and the gasp turns into another broken sound when he bites down properly. Not enough to tear skin. Enough to sting, enough to mark. The sensation shoots through me like electricity, straight down my spine, and my whole body jerks beneath him.
"Kai—" I choke, and my hands clutch harder.
His mouth stays on my neck, breath shaking. He sucks once, deliberately, like he's leaving proof on purpose.
The possessiveness of it makes me go feral.
I grind up harder, reckless now, like it's the only thing keeping me in my body.
It's humiliating how quickly I'm teetering on the edge just from this.
"Fuck," Kai moans. "You're so sensitive."
It's worse that he can sense it.
Kai's hips stutter just once, as if his control falters. His breath catches against my neck. His hand in my hair tightens, then relaxes, as if he's trying to correct himself as he descends.
"Anri," he says again, and my name sounds like a warning and a plea.
I can't answer properly. My mouth opens on a shaky inhale and nothing coherent comes out. My whole body is tightening too fast, heat spiralling up and up until I can't hold it.
My boxers are already uncomfortable, way too tight, damp with sweat and precum, and the shame of it tries to flare—tries to make me pull away—until Kai's mouth presses to my neck again, and he bites down and sucks, sharper this time, like he's telling me to stop thinking.
The sting knocks the shame right out of me.
I make a wrecked sound, louder than I mean to, and it tips me over the edge.
The pleasure hits me hard—like lightning cracking through my veins, sudden and overwhelming. My back arches off the bed, my entire body locking up as my hips jerk helplessly, chasing the friction that's already ruining me.
And then—
His hand grips my jaw, fingers pressing hard enough to keep me pinned, forcing my head back. My vision blurs, but his grip doesn't let me look away.
"Eyes on me," Kai growls.
And god, I can't. I can't. But he doesn't let me blink, doesn't let me escape—his gaze pins me just as brutally as his hand does, watching every second as I unravel beneath him.
The heat spills over, unstoppable, shaking through me in ragged waves—I'm helplessly coming beneath him—and Kai watches, his breath fractured, his grip tightening like he wants to feel the moment I break.
I whimper—half-sob, half-plea—and his thumb swipes over my bottom lip, rough, possessive.
Then I'm gone—collapsing back against the sheets, boneless and wrecked, still trembling as his hand finally loosens, dragging down my throat like he's memorising the way I fell apart for him.
For a second, there is nothing but the aftermath—shaking, breathless, my mind completely empty except for the humiliating fact that I just… did that…in front of him.
Kai stays over me.
He doesn't move away. He doesn't look disgusted. He doesn't say anything that would let me pretend it didn't happen.
The mark throbs where he bit, hot and tender, like a bruise blooming under my skin. He stares down at me with eyes that look too awake now, too focused.
His breathing is ragged.
His jaw works like he's swallowing down something violent.
I can feel the tension in him, coiled and unsatisfied, and it makes my stomach flip all over again, because even now—especially now—I can tell he's holding himself back.
Kai's gaze drops to my throat, to the mark he left, then back to my eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asks, voice low, controlled by force.
The question should make me laugh. It nearly makes me cry.
I nod, throat tight, face burning. "Yeah," I whisper. "Yeah."
Kai exhales slowly through his nose like he's trying to rebuild himself one piece at a time. His thumb brushes the side of my neck once—right over the sore spot—possessive and careful at the same time, like he's claiming responsibility for what he did.
Then, quieter:
"Good."
The word hits like a reward and a leash all at once.
I swallow, still shaking, still mortified, and my hands tighten reflexively in his vest again because I don't know what to do with myself when he's looking at me like that—like he's proud and furious and hungry all at once.
Kai leans down, presses one last kiss to my mouth—hard, brief, punishing in its restraint—then stops himself before it becomes anything else.
His forehead hovers close to mine. His breath is hot against my lips. "Stay put. Don't move."
My throat tightens. I nod because I can't manage words. Because my body is still too full of him, too raw to do anything but obey. I don't even know if that's what he wants. I don't know if he wants obedience or if he wants me anchored in the room, not spiralling back into that bar, not dissolving into shame.
Kai shifts off me slowly, in a controlled way. The sudden loss of his weight makes the air feel colder. My skin feels exposed. My mind tries to panic at the distance, and my body answers with a pathetic little ache like it's already missing him.
He doesn't go far.
He leans over, grabs the edge of my blanket, drags it up over my hips with brisk care, like he's covering me before my brain has time to turn it into humiliation. Then he stands and disappears into the bathroom.
I hear the faucet run.
The sound is so normal that it makes my eyes sting. The fact that he's doing something so normal after what just happened makes the whole thing feel real in a way I'm not sure I can handle.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling, breathing like I've run a mile. My neck throbs where he marked me, a hot, tender pulse that makes my stomach flip when I swallow. My boxers are damp and uncomfortable, and the shame tries to crawl up my spine again, but the singing relief is what truly takes hold.
Kai returns with a small towel and a wet cloth. His expression is calm again, which should be impossible. His eyes don't soften. They focus. Like he's choosing to take responsibility for this the same way he chose to take responsibility for the water, the food, the open windows.
He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at me.
"Can I?" he asks.
I nod again, because I can't seem to stop nodding today. Because the thought of him touching me like this makes my heart flutter with something tender and humiliating at the same time.
Kai doesn't waste the permission.
He moves the blanket down just enough, deliberate and efficient, keeping his gaze fixed on my face like he's refusing to let this turn into anything else. His hand is warm when he cleans me up, methodical, gentle in a way that feels almost unfair after how feral he just was.
I flinch once, instinctively, and his eyes sharpen.
"Too much?" he asks.
"No," I whisper, voice wrecked. "Just… sensitive."
Kai nods once, like he's logging the data. He adjusts his touch without making a big deal of it, slower and more careful. The lack of commentary is its own kind of intimacy. He isn't teasing me. He isn't shaming me. He's treating it like a bodily fact, nothing more.
I stare at the ceiling again and try not to think about what he's doing, try not to think about how domestic it feels, how normal it looks from the outside. Like I'm sick, and he's taking care of me. Like I'm not a person who just came apart under him in my own bed.
Kai finishes, folds the cloth, and stands. He tosses my boxers into the laundry basket with quiet precision, like he's cleaning up evidence.
Then he comes back with new underwear for me, and sits again, closer this time.
My breathing is still uneven. My body is still buzzing. The shame is still hovering at the edge of my thoughts like a vulture waiting for silence.
Kai reaches up and brushes his thumb along my cheek once, a small, grounding touch that makes my eyes sting harder.
"Hey," he says.
The word isn't soft. It isn't cold. It's just enough.
I swallow. "I'm sorry," I start, because it's a reflex carved into me. "It just happened—"
Kai's gaze goes sharp. "Ah-ah," Kai shakes his head. "What are you sorry for? That was…" he makes a sound at the back of his throat as if finishing the sentence would cost him something.
The apology dies in my throat.
"It felt good," I blurt out before I can stop myself.
The words hang in the air between us.
Kai goes completely still.
Slowly, his eyes shift back to me.
"Anri."
My stomach flips.
"I mean—" I drag a hand over my face, mortified. "I just didn't want you to think I was being weird about it—"
"I don't." His voice is low. He studies me for a second longer, something dark flickering behind his expression, before he reins it back in.
"If anything," he adds quietly, "you should be less worried about that and more worried about what you're doing to me."
My eyes drop before I can stop them.
And that's when I notice it.
The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands are flexing slightly against the mattress, like he's holding something back.
Something obvious.
The fabric of his shorts pulled tight in a way that makes my brain catch up all at once.
The outline is… unmistakable.
"Oh." The word slips out.
Kai huffs a soft breath through his nose.
"You were warned."
Guilt builds up in my chest.
"I could—" I start, hesitant. "I mean, if you want—"
Kai cuts me off gently.
"Not yet." The words aren't sharp, but they sound almost… reluctant.
Not yet doesn't mean rejection. It's a restraint as if Kai's hanging by a thread, and I'm the one holding the knife.
I look up at him.
He's watching me like he's measuring something invisible.
"I meant what I said earlier," he continues. "I don't trust myself if we rush this…"
His thumb brushes absently over the back of my hand where it's resting on the sheets.
The contact sends a quiet shiver up my spine.
"And for the record," he adds, voice rougher now, "this isn't me being noble."
My pulse jumps.
"It's self-preservation."
I blink at him.
Kai's mouth tilts slightly at the corner.
"Because if we keep going right now," he says quietly, "I'm not stopping."
He stays very still for a moment, like he's still resisting. Then he leans down and kisses me.
Not like before.
It's gentle. Slow. The kind of kiss that feels like being put back together. His mouth presses to mine with careful pressure and then pulls back just enough to look at me, like he's checking whether I'm still here.
I breathe out shakily.
Kai kisses my forehead. Then my temple. Then, softer still, the corner of my mouth, as if he's trying to rewrite the last ten minutes into something safer.
My chest aches.
"You're safe," he says, low.
It isn't reassurance in the normal sense. It's a directive to my nervous system. My body believes it before my brain does.
I blink hard. My eyes feel hot. My throat feels thick with everything I refused to say earlier.
Kai's hand slides into my hair, fingers combing once through the mess, not tugging, just holding. It's the same touch from last night. The same quiet claim.
"Stay," he repeats, and this time it doesn't feel like an order to not move.
It feels like: don't leave me alone with this.
My stomach flips, tender and sick. I don't trust my voice, so I do the only thing I can.
I shift closer.
Kai lets me. He pulls the blanket up around us properly, then draws me into his chest with a slow, controlled movement that somehow feels more intimate than the feral kiss. His arm wraps around my back, firm, steady, containing without crushing.
I tuck my face into his chest and breathe him in.
A scent I'm going to associate with safety in the worst possible way.
Kai's fingers move through my hair again, slow and reverent. He kisses the top of my head like it's a habit he's had for years.
My eyelids feel heavy, like my body is crashing now that it's finally run out of adrenaline.
I don't want to sleep; it would feel like letting go of the moment.
"What if you disappear?" The words slip out before I can stop them, muffled against his chest.
Kai's arm tightens slightly, like he heard the fear under it.
"I won't," he says.
I breathe out, shaky. "You're… really here."
He hums once, low. "Yes."
His hand strokes my hair in a slow rhythm that makes my thoughts blur at the edges. The throbbing on my neck is a warm reminder of him. It should scare me.
It doesn't.
It makes me feel claimed. It makes me feel chosen. It makes me want to cry from the relief.
Kai's fingers pause for a moment at the back of my neck, right where his hand grabbed me earlier. Then he resumes, slower, like he's trying to be careful now that the fire has passed.
My breathing evens out despite myself.
The apartment is quiet again. The city hush presses in like a blanket. Everything feels softer at the edges, like the world is giving me permission to stop bracing.
Kai presses one more kiss to my hairline, barely there.
"Sleep," he murmurs, rough velvet against my ear.
It isn't bossy this time.
It's almost… tender.
I nod against him, too tired to fight it.
His heartbeat thuds under my ear, steady and even.
I don't know how he does this—how he can go from demanding my eyes like he wants to destroy me to holding me like I'm something fragile and breakable.
But I don't question it, because the touch feels too nice, and his body is warm, and I'm tired enough to forget all the reasons I shouldn't be cuddling with him like this.
My last thought before the dark takes me is humiliating in its simplicity.
I don't know how I'm supposed to act normal after he—
I drift off in his arms, already too far gone to pretend this is temporary.