~ Tatsuya ~
I heard her before I saw her. The quiet footsteps. Confident, but not hurried. Then she stepped around the corner - dressed in black, simple, relaxed. Her hair freshly tied back, a few drops of water still on the nape of her neck. And there was that look again: straight ahead, without detours, without hesitation.
"Are you finally going to tell me why you're here?" she asked, stopping.
No anger in her voice. But alertness. This wasn't a game for her – not yet.
I slowly straightened up, letting the moment sink in.
"I wanted to take you out," I said simply.
She raised an eyebrow, as if she had expected a less direct answer. Perhaps an excuse. Then she nodded - barely perceptibly. "All right."
We set off.
A car was already waiting in front of the estate. Black, discreet. The chauffeur got out without a word and opened the door for us. I let her go first, she hesitated briefly - then got in. I followed.
The door closed gently behind me, the subdued light of the interior enveloping us.
The car started moving.
Misaki leaned back slightly, her gaze straight ahead. Not attentive, but not dismissive either.
She had decided to come with me - that was enough.
I looked at her without hesitation.
The way she held her hands loosely in her lap. How a single strand of hair had come loose from her fresh braid and brushed her neck. How she pretended not to notice that I was looking at her. Her gaze directed out the window, as if I weren't even there - or worse: as if I were uninteresting.
I let the silence sink in. I leaned back and continued to look at her.
Even now, in the dim light of the interior, she seemed unapproachable. No perfume. No jewelry. Just the echo of water on her skin, the cool elegance of black, and that unblinking gaze.
I would have liked to ask her what she was thinking about. But I was pretty sure the answer would have been "Not you."
And I didn't want to make a fool of myself.
Not today.
Instead, I spoke calmly:
"You're not saying anything."
"You're not asking any questions," she countered immediately, without turning to me.
I grinned.
"Because I don't need any."
Finally, she turned her head.
"Because you think you already know everything?"
I looked her straight in the eye.
"No," I said. "Because I want you to talk on your own."
She looked at me for a moment. Then she turned back to the window.
Not dismissively - more as if I were a test she couldn't yet evaluate conclusively.
"You seem disappointed," I said finally, almost casually.
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes remained fixed on the passing street, as if there were something more exciting there than me.
"I was expecting anything," she muttered. "A speech. A tactical conversation. Maybe even a confession."
Then she looked at me, her gaze calm but steady.
"But not that you'd just give me something to eat."
I smiled slightly.
"Then my plan is working."
She raised an eyebrow. "Which part of it? Confusing me?"
"Luring you out of your shell."
The car turned and slowed down.
"So you're not going to tell me where we are," she said quietly, more as a statement than a question.
I replied just as calmly:
"You already know."
A tiny twitch crossed the corner of her mouth. Almost a smile - almost.
Then we stopped.
I got out and walked around the car, ready to open the door for her - a simple act, polite, controlled, symbolic.
But before I reached the handle, I heard the soft click.
She had already opened the door.
Of course.
Our eyes met for a moment.
I held out my hand to her anyway - not because she needed it, but because I wanted to see what she would do with it.
She ignored it.
She just stood up, with that completely calm movement that left no room for doubt.
I lowered my hand and said nothing. It wasn't rejection, not really. It was just Misaki.
We walked side by side in silence, through the inconspicuous entrance, past wood and shadows. The reception was discreet, the staff trained, invisible.
The man at the door bowed deeply and led us wordlessly through two corridors. Everything was prepared.
A room - simple, clean, secluded. Just us.
Tatami mats. A low table. Paper walls.
And the sound of bamboo in the wind outside, as if the world had briefly come to a standstill.