~ Tatsuya ~
"How long are you going to stare, Tatsuya?"
Her voice was calm. Unemotional. Like someone who had known I was there all along — and was now just asking politely.
Haruki, who was apparently so preoccupied with surviving at her pace that he hadn't even noticed me, flinched.
He turned to me and blinked.
"I didn't know you were here, Tatsuya."
Before I could answer, Hina came running up — like an arrow that couldn't miss its target.
"Onii-chan! A giant bug! On the tree! It's blue and sparkly!"
She grabbed his hand and pulled him away with an enthusiasm that was hard to resist. Haruki, who was apparently glad to escape the sword fight, willingly allowed himself to be distracted.
"Haruki, we'll continue tomorrow. And then it won't matter who visits us," said Misaki.
"Sure," replied Haruki.
Misaki walked past me – so close that I could smell her scent. Fresh. A little like wood, a little like sweat. Real.
I turned around as soon as she had passed me.
She bent forward, picked up the towel from the floor, and dabbed her forehead and neck with slow movements. Then she turned halfway toward me. Her eyes didn't sparkle — they didn't burn — but they held me fast.
"So, why are you here?" she asked.
I held her gaze, even though it felt like the cold blade of a knife — beautifully crafted, precise, not dangerous... as long as you kept your distance.
"I'm here to take you out," I said calmly, with a hint of playfulness. "Officially. With decorum. Maybe even with a smile."
She barely flinched, but something in her eyes twitched — a movement that came and went faster than you could grasp it.
"Take you out, huh?" She took the towel and dabbed her forehead and neck, slowly, deliberately.
"It sounded better than 'kidnap.'" I crossed my arms and leaned slightly against the post behind me.
Misaki draped the towel over her shoulder. Her posture was relaxed — but there was that spark in her. She didn't change her expression — at least not at first. But I saw the hint of a smile touch her lips, barely visible.
"And where were you going to kidnap me to, Tatsuya?" she asked as she straightened up again. Her gaze remained mocking but attentive.
"It would be boring if I told you that, wouldn't it?" I leaned forward a little. "There has to be a little surprise. Maybe you'll want to run away again."
She was silent for a moment, as if weighing how much of what I said was just play... and how much was truth.
"Fine," she said finally. "I'll come with you."
I raised an eyebrow, surprised at how smoothly that went.
But she didn't turn away. Instead, she took a step closer, just close enough that her voice didn't have to get louder.
"However, you'll have to wait."
She left the words hanging. No "please." No smile. No time frame.
Just this clear, calm instruction — as if it were obvious that I would do what she said.
And maybe it was.
"Then I'll wait," I replied without hesitation.
She nodded almost imperceptibly and turned away again—like a dancer who already knew the next step.
I leaned back against the post and watched her go.
I could wait.
For Misaki, it was worth it.
---
~ Misaki ~
I didn't say anything. I just turned around and left him standing there.
His gaze burned into my back. It was as if he wanted to undress me with his eyes alone. Or dissect me. It was hard to say which was more dangerous and which was more unpleasant.
I walked down the corridor and climbed the stairs to my room. I reached my room and closed the sliding door behind me.
It was cool inside.
I sank down onto the edge of the futon mat, rested my elbows on my knees, and paused for a moment.
Why was he here?
He didn't have to come. No official occasion. No obligation. So he wanted to. And that meant... What exactly? That he wanted to see me? That he thought he was allowed to?
I pushed the thought aside and got up. I slipped off my top, then my pants. Underwear. Everything fell with a dull rustle into the laundry basket in the corner. I untied my ponytail and stepped into the small bathroom.
The shower was plain, functional. I turned the water to cold. Let it run until my skin tingled slightly, as if it needed to remember that it belonged to me. The sweat, the workout — I washed it all away. Only the feeling of his gaze remained indelible.
His voice still echoed in the back of my mind. His gaze — which had not only seen, but searched.
Why was he here?
I wiped the water from my face. It's not a good sign when you find yourself wondering what a man is thinking while you're in the shower. Even less so when you want to know.
When I was done, I dried myself thoroughly, tied my hair back again — looser this time, loose enough not to look like I was serious.
I reached for a loose-fitting black shirt. I pulled it on in front of the mirror. The fabric was soft, the cut casual. I paired it with simple dark pants. No accessories.
Then I left the room.
My steps were quiet. Attentive. But not hesitant.
He was still waiting. Of course. Men like him didn't wait often — but when they did, there was a reason. And usually that reason was dangerous.
As I turned the corner, I saw him: upright, patient, like someone who doesn't doubt, but merely counts how many seconds you allow yourself before rewarding him.
I paused briefly, just an arm's length away. His eyes found me immediately.