pulchritudism

Taking his response as it is, you excitedly make your way up the boarding stairs, trusting him completely given his past surprises. He leads you up another set of stairs headed to the third and top floor of the vessel where the wet bar and sundeck is. The moment you see the view, you gasp and rush over to the railings, marveling at how the sun was shining at such a perfect angle that the ripples of the ocean glistened like diamonds. The water is so clear, you can see the reefs under the water.

“Kento, look!” you exclaim when you spot a school of fish emerge from right under the yacht, turning back to see the person you’re calling out to in the middle of a conversation with the captain.

He glances at you when he notices you’ve been looking at him in anticipation, signaling with apologetic eyes that you’ll have to wait some time before he can get back to you.

You reassure him with a smile, facing back to take in the beauty of the horizon, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Despite the temperature being much warmer than you’re used to, the weather is perfect for basking under the sun.

As you wait for him to settle his business, you pull your sundress over your head to reveal your swimwear, deciding to sprawl comfortably on one of the couches, fishing for the shades in your handbag.

You’re in the middle of applying sunscreen all over your thighs when he comes back with cocktails and a platter of fruit. You watch him saunter towards you, the visual representation of “heart-eyes” all over your expression.

“Sorry, just had to settle something with the captain,” he sets everything down on the table beside you, opening his palm up, “Do you need some help with that?”

“Yes, please,” you hand him the bottle of sunscreen, turning your back to him and brushing your hair aside.

He occupies the space beside you and empties some of the product into his hands before rubbing it on your shoulder blades and back, running his thumbs down your spine. What started off as him helping you apply sunscreen eventually turns into a full-blown massage, which you had hoped for in the first place, knowing the type of person that he is.

His actions paired with the gentle rocking of the boat as it traverses across the ocean calms you down so much, you almost end up falling asleep, not until you suddenly jerk back to full consciousness, catching him off guard and making him take his hands off you.

You prop yourself up and turn to face him, smiling at him to signal your satisfaction, “You want me to do you too?”

“Sure,” he fully unbuttons his short-sleeved shirt, tossing it somewhere beside him.

Rubbing your palms together, you warm up the lotion before pressing them on to his back, returning the favor he so generously bestowed upon you by giving him a massage too. It’s not like he couldn’t do it himself, but you can’t resist applying the sunscreen in places he wouldn’t even have difficulty reaching.

Without shame, your hands caress his biceps and forearms which prompts him to face you, allowing you ease of access. You squeeze some more of the sunscreen into your palms before massaging it into his chest, making your way down to his abs and admiring every groove and curve of his body. It’s so evident with the smile on your face that you’re finding enjoyment in what you’re doing.

“You’ve been going over the same spot for minutes now. Aren’t you satisfied yet?” he teases with a sly smirk.

Caught red-handed, you grin cheekily, “How can you expect me to be when you’re built like a fucking greek god?”

He purses his lips, trying to think of a comeback but he’s at a loss for words. Instead, he rolls his eyes and looks to the side, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly. What a rare sight to see.

You laugh, amused at how adorable he looks when he’s flustered before leaning forward, nipping at his bottom lip and tasting the sweetness of mangoes, “Mm, suddenly I’m craving for that fruit platter.”

Sitting up, you stare at the array of sliced tropical fruits in front of you before you begin to leisurely snack on them.

About an hour passes when a small island materializes within sight. You turn to Nanami to ask him about it but by this point, he'd passed out beside you on the sundeck couch, his hand still loosely entwined around yours. You can’t blame him; the jet lag from all of his business trips has most likely caught up to him. So, you let him rest, delicately combing your fingers through his hair while you revel at the warm breeze and the gentle rocking of the boat.

It takes another 30 minutes or so of maneuvering across the clear blue sea before the yacht is finally docked near the shore, causing him to stir awake ever so slowly.

“Hey, sleepy head. We’re here,” you tell him softly, squeezing his hand.

“Already?” he winces when the sunlight hits his eyes, “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“No, don’t apologize. Did you have a good nap?”

He groans in affirmation, unhurriedly getting up on his feet before helping you up. When the two of you set foot into the island, the nap he took had taken full effect, recharging him for the day.

As he trudges across the shore, you turn on the balls of your feet, scanning the vicinity. The island seems to be completely uninhabited; there was no other building or structure within sight save for a well-maintained two-story beachfront house surrounded by coconut trees.

“Is this where we’re staying for the weekend?” you eye the structure in front of you, marveling at its modest beauty.

He pulls his shades up his head, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s absolutely beautiful. How did you discover this place?”

His expression shifts to enthusiasm, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask that exact question, “I happen to own it actually.”

“Huh,” you blink suspiciously, “Just the house?”

“And the island.”

Of course he did. By now, you should have already been used to him casually dropping bombs like these ones, but still, your mouth hangs open, raking your eyes across the island once more, “Seriously?”

He nods, “We acquired it for a land development project, but I ended up loving the place so much that I wanted to preserve its natural beauty instead of turning it into another resort. I figured having a small house built wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe one day it can serve as a retirement home,” his lips curl upward, seemingly visualizing the thought, “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the front porch where the beginning of the house tour commences. Knowing that the two of you only have the weekend together definitely fuels how you spend the day. The goal was to do as much as you can in the little time you had, and it starts off with him cooking up brunch with your assistance right after he shows you around.

It’s the first time you’ve ever gotten to try something he prepared. You’ve been eating such exquisite and expensive meals whenever you’re with him, but none of them can ever compare to the comfort the pan-seared scallops and truffled fettuccine pasta he cooked gives you.

And so, after indulging in a hearty meal, the two of you take a rest in the living room in order to digest everything and recover from the food coma.

The next hours are then spent with you heading to the beach for a swim, lounging around under the sun, exploring the island by bike, and attempting to pick coconuts with a pole pruner only to fail and have the yacht crew assist you instead. When the sun finally sets, you retreat back home to have a nice candlelit dinner at the rooftop deck.

* * *

The evening sky looks so clear now that you’re free from the polluted air brought about by urbanization. The enduring beauty of the full-moon captivates your eyes and your heart, making you wish that you could live on this island forever without a single worry, free from conformity and the hustle and bustle of every-day work in the city.

With a heavy sigh of relief, you lean against the railing of the master bedroom balcony, staring at the tranquil night sea as you enjoy the last bit of rosé in your wine glass. After a few minutes, you hear the door behind you slide open, the thin curtains fluttering in the wind and brushing against your legs.

“What are you thinking about?” Nanami comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and tugging you flush against his body before he begins to pepper your jawline with kisses, trailing them down.

You set your glass down on the table beside you, giggling when his lips reach the point of your neck where you’re most sensitive, “Just how this whole thing’s been such a whirlwind of events,” you turn to face him, perching your arms on his shoulders, “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

“If it’s a dream, then I don’t think I’d want to wake up,” he responds, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.

With a small smile, you tiptoe to brush your nose against his cheek but he quickly turns his head, capturing your lips in his instead. A hand flies up to hold on to the back of your head, pulling you in for an even deeper kiss.

With that feeling of passion rooted deep in your core growing by the second, you break free from him and take his hand, hastily dragging him back inside the bedroom. You make your way to lay your back on the mattress and he wastes no time as he comes up on top of you. His comforting warmth closes in on you and his adventurous hands move to grope your breasts roughly.

“So eager,” you say playfully.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” his voice is breathy, and you can hear the tone of neediness in it.

You feel the exact same way. Two nights in proximity simply couldn’t make up for the months you were away from each other, but you’re damn sure you’re going to try your best to make it worthwhile.

He pulls your shirt up to cover your eyes, using it as a makeshift blindfold which causes you to nervously writhe under his grasp, your sense of touch heightening at the loss of sight.

“Is this fine with you?” he asks, lapping his tongue across your collarbone, sucking on your flesh.

You nod in response.

“Good, sweetheart. Just tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” you feel him move away from you momentarily before you hear the bedside table drawer open and shut. Not too long after, he’s back to his original position.

He traces his fingers on your hip bone, the light pressure sending shivers through your body. He toys with the hem of your shorts, curling his finger around it and teasing you at an agonizingly slow pace. Then, his warm touch leaves for longer than you’d like.

“Take it off already,” you whine.

“Relax,” he coos, “Let me have my fun.”

You tense up when you feel him lick a stripe up your abdomen before using his mouth to toy with your breasts. Instinctively, you tug on the roots of his hair, moaning as teases your nipples until they’re hard. Once satisfied, he finally pulls your shorts and panties down, and you’re more than happy to assist him by kicking them off.

“Remember when I asked you what you wanted from France and you told me to surprise you?” he whispers, breath brushing against your ear. You make a noise of affirmation.

He withdraws from you and kneels on the mattress. Suddenly, a buzzing sound echoes through the room and before you can even register what it was, you’re caught off guard by an overwhelming sensation on your clit as he presses a bullet vibrator against it.

A gasp immediately rips itself out of your chest. Your hand flies up to blindly grab his arm, “Oh, my god—”

With his free hand, he spreads your legs wider, stroking the toy along the entire length of your folds before circling back lightly on your bundle of nerves, “How does this feel?”

“G–Good,” you utter, a pitch higher than normal, unable to resist squirming under his grasp, the unpredictable shift in pressure making you crave for more. This feeling is something you’re not accustomed to, but it’s utterly intoxicating.

“Do you like my gift?”

“Yes,” you gasp, “Fuck yes.”

He focuses on using your mewls as a guide as to what makes you feel the most pleasure, building it up ever so slowly. Then, without mercy, he withdraws his hand.

“More,” you whine.

“What was that?”

“Keep going. Please.”

He takes your hand before he passes over the toy to you, the warmth of his body disappearing as shifts further away.

“If you want more, then do it yourself,” he tells you, cadence shifting, and you can practically see him smirking by the new tone of his voice, “Don’t think you’ve gotten away with what you did during my meeting.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask innocently, trying to visualize behind the blindfold where he could be now.

“That’s not going to work on me this time,” he tells you sternly.

You purse your lips; you should have expected you weren’t always going to get your way in bed sooner or later. Especially not after the handful of times you’ve teased him over the past few months.

To say the least, you’re rather embarrassed having to pleasure yourself while he watches, and it shows with the say you’re shyly hovering the vibrator over you, applying pressure so barely noticeable.

You stifle your sounds with a hand and he easily picks up on how you’re holding yourself back.

“You were so shameless during our call,” he tuts, “What happened, dear? Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.”

He really knows how to rile you up, doesn’t he? He knows exactly what buttons to press to get a reaction from you, his taunt instigating a deep desire in you like a spark.

Oh, you’ll show him—you’ll give him the best show you can.

With a surge of confidence, you turn the vibrator off and toss it aside for the meantime. You sit up and press your back against the headboard, spreading your legs wide before folding them, baring your entire self to him.

“Don’t you dare take your eyes off me,” you tell him with a smirk, enclosing your lips around your fingers before bringing it down in between your thighs, stroking yourself, your arousal mixing with your saliva as you slip a single finger in you. You begin to thrust, curling them up to hit your g-spot and moaning softly each time.

Your free hand pats the mattress, searching for the vibrator until it’s with you. And, with a press of a button, you switch it back on and stroke it against your clit. You get on your knees, grinding against the toy as if no one else is in the room watching you. Your other hand explores your body, trailing up the length of your abdomen to massage your breasts, fingers pinching and playing with your pebbled nipples before coming back down to plunge into you once more.

You’re right to say you’ve been missing out not having invested in a vibrator earlier on because you never would have imagined you could get so wet just playing with yourself. One finger becomes two, and you manage to slip three fingers in without difficulty, finding sheer bliss in the stretch of each thrust. All the while, the embarrassment you felt earlier is completely eradicated as wanton moans and whimpers erupt throughout the room.

“Is my precious girlfriend enjoying herself?”

You may not be able to see, but your sense of hearing has now intensified, and you can hear him very well. You can hear the sound of fabric hitting the floor and how strained his voice was when he spoke. You can hear his labored breathing, and you have a clear idea as to why.

“Seems to me like you’re enjoying what you’re watching” you bite back playfully, sinking back down onto the mattress, throwing your head deeper into the pillow.

There’s no response, just the feeling of the mattress sinking back down and the sounds of him growing closer. Knowing that he was getting off to watching you pleasure yourself sends your mind into a frenzy. It fuels the spark into a flame, making you quicken the pace of your ministrations. You’re about to lose it.

“Come… Come fuck me before I get off by myself,” you say after several minutes, feeling your abdomen knotting.

When he senses that you’re close by the way you’re gripping on to the sheets and arching your body, he leans forward and takes the toy out of your hand, regaining his control over you, “You can only cum when I say so. Got it?”

You whimper loudly at the loss of friction. By this time, you’re no longer able to hold yourself back. You extend your arms, managing to grip onto his thighs, using them as a guide to find his cock. You close your palm around him, smearing precum dripping from the tip all the way down to the base, “I want you inside me.”

He gently brushes your hold on him away, taking his cock into his own hand. He rubs the tip along the length of your folds before pushing into you ever so slowly, “So wet… I can easily slip it in—” a shared gasp leaves you both the moment he enters you completely, the stretch heavenly as always, “—just like that.”

He starts off unhurriedly, his movements are met with no resistance due to your arousal. You manage to pull his head down, parting your lips. He nibbles at them unassumingly, and just when you're about to tease him for being so gentle, he shoves his tongue down your throat, his mouth molding around yours so perfectly and so aggressively, you’re left out of breath.

Then, when you least expect it, he thrusts into you, hard. Then, he does it again–harder–before speeding up, causing you to throw your head back and grip onto his arms.

You tip your toes against the bed, your legs shaking uncontrollably when you raise your hips. He manages to yank a pillow and place it under you, your body now angled perfectly for him as he continues with his rough movements. Tears are beginning to drench your shirt as you cry out for him to go even harder. Your hands reach out, blindly trying to latch on to something for dear life, but all you can do is gesticulate in the air as he gives in to your pleads.

A loud whimper escapes you when he brings the vibrator back, the added stimulation sending you closer and closer to the edge each second that passes. His other hand wraps around your throat, hips slamming into yours.

He leans close to you, softly moaning your name into your ear, knowing full well how much it turns you on and using that knowledge to his advantage. As a response, you lock your legs around him, nails scratching at his back which only causes him to groan even louder.

All you need is a little push. In fact, perhaps a little tap would have done it but every time–every single fucking time–you feel yourself about to reach your climax, he either slows down, stops, or lightens the pressure of the vibrator, ruining your orgasm completely.

“Fuck, please just—“ you beg him, your hands desperately flying down in between your thighs but he manages to catch them and pin them above your head.

“What did I say earlier?” he reprimands, hand squeezing onto your wrists as a warning.

You’re reduced to a sputtering mess, your mewling is mixed in with a string of profanities and pleads. You’ve never said these words this many times in succession, but holy fucking shit, your mind is unable to rack up anything else; the only thing you’re thinking about is the electrifying pleasure this was all building up to.

He pulls your shirt back down to your neck, seeing your face wet with tears, a thumb coming up to wipe them away, “Aw, sweetheart. So pretty even when you cry.”

You sniffle, your whimpering only growing louder, “P–Please, let me cum. I’m begging, please, let me.”

“Can you hold on a little bit more for me?” he says, gentler this time.

There’s no denying that it’ll be worth it in the end, but he’s been edging you so much that your body physically can no longer handle being denied this long. You’re about to crumble, but maybe you can last a little bit more.

You grit your teeth, nodding weakly.

Without warning, he drops the toy and easily manages to flip you over, gripping your hips before he rams back into you. You grab onto the sheets in front of you, face buried into the pillow, the depth of each thrust causing waves of euphoria to ripple through your entire body.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded. With the rate he’s going, it’s only a matter of time before he finally gives you what you’ve been asking for all this time. Where he knew the perfect pace to go at, you knew the perfect angle to arch your body so that he effortlessly hits your sweet spot.

He bunches your hair up together in one hand, the other one picking the vibrator back up as he pounds you soulless into the mattress with harder thrusts, the sound of moans, buzzing, and flesh slamming against flesh filling up the entire room.

“K–Kento—”you whimper, his name rolling out of your lips so salaciously that he pulls on your hair tighter. You push back against his movements, obscenely bouncing on his cock, “Please, let me cum already, I can’t hold back anymore!”

“Yeah? Me too. Cum for me, sweetheart,” he demands breathlessly.

Hearing those words make your walls clench around him, causing him to groan and involuntarily press the vibrator harder onto you. That was exactly what you needed to be sent over. You cry out, every muscle in your body contracting as the tension of being mercilessly edged all night is finally released.

You feel his warm cum shoot inside of you and fill you up. With a strained groan, he drops the toy one last time, using his hands to stroke against your already incredibly sensitive clit, picking up the pace of his gestures before he sloppily thrusts into you again, fucking you through your orgasm as his cum coats his dick.

“Oh, fuck—Oh, my god!” you exclaim, prying his hand away but he’s quick to bring it back, overstimulating you even further.

A louder shriek erupts from you. Your legs are quivering, teeth sinking down into the pillow as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Tears are staining the sheets and drool is running down the corner of your parted mouth.

You can’t bear it anymore so you grip at his arm, crying out once more in desperation as you wriggle your entire body, “Enough! Please!”

As requested, he slows down before coming to a full stop. Finally, he pulls out, leaning forward to give you tender kisses all over your shoulder and neck, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

He kisses your temple repeatedly, both as praise and as compensation for being so rough on you tonight, “You’re amazing as always, baby.”

You’re spent and breathless. You sniff, turning to face him with a weak smile. He looks at you apologetically, using your shirt to wipe all the remnants of tears away.

“You always fuck me like we’re never going to see each other again,” you mutter softly.

“Hm,” the corner of his lips curl upwards indistinctly, “Someone once told me to fuck them like it’s the last time I’ll see them, and I’ve taken that to heart ever since.”

Your cheeks turn cherry-red, recalling the night when you said those words all too well. You bite down on your lip, hiding your embarrassed smile, “God, you’re unbelievable.”

In other words, you love him to death.

You’ve never–never–in your life experienced an orgasm so intense and bone-shattering that it leaves you involuntarily spasming minutes after reaching it. Your core is pulsating, mind unable to comprehend sensibly the sheer bliss your body just experienced. It leaves you dazed, like you’ve just unlocked some dimension you never could have believed existed.

The ungodly expressions you’ve made just from this night are completely unbridled; you’re just thankful he didn’t see the true extent of the hot mess you were after you came.

Minutes pass as the two of you recuperate while cuddling.

“Are you tired?” you ask after some time, still panting, mischievous eyes glimmering.

“Not yet. Why?” he folds his arm behind his head, “Do you want to go another round?”

“I actually had something different in mind,” you say, sitting up to swing your leg over him and placing your hands on his chest, “But I definitely can’t pass up the proposition.”

“Really? Are you sure you can hold up after that last one?” he teases, holding you by the waist.

“Is that a challenge?” you narrow your eyes, slowly grinding on him to tease him back, feeling his cock twitch under you, “You know I’m not one to back down.”

With your eyes locked on him, you raise your hips, aligning it with his before you take his already growing erection into your hands and lower yourself onto him. He watches you with concupiscence, lips parted as he holds in a breath. You sit still once you’ve taken all of him, bending down and puckering your lips. Your slight movements make him pulsate inside of you, and you feel him starting to grow even harder.

He gives you a tender peck, squeezing your ass cheeks hungrily, “So, what did you have in mind?”

“Stay up with me. I don’t want this night to end yet.”

He smiles against your lips, “Then let’s make it last as long as we can.”

* * *

You can’t deny the exhaustion and aching your entire body felt after going two more rounds with him, which leaves you wondering where in the hell he got such stamina because by the end of it all, it seemed as if he still had enough energy to last the entire night. So, at around three in the morning, you tap out and the both of you decide to spend the rest of the night camping outside to stargaze instead.

Still determined to stay up as long as you can, you sit cross-legged on top of a thick blanket laid on the sand as you look up at the sky, watching the constellations glisten.

“Here,” he says from behind, a fuzzy blanket draped over his shoulders as he hands you a cup of hot tea.

“Thank you,” you say softly, smiling while you watch him sit beside you.

He swings an arm around your shoulder and tugs you close, sheltering you in the warmth of the blanket and his body heat, “Are you sure you’re not sleepy yet?”

You snuggle up against him and take small sips of your piping hot beverage, “I am actually, but I’d rather stay up. How about you?”

He shakes his head, “I’m used to the late nights.”

A pause, a comfortable one.

“Well, less than nine hours to go,” you say dolefully, breaking the silence, “I wish we could stay here forever.”

He emits a breathy chuckle, “Don’t tempt me. I might as well leave everything behind and elope with you.”

“Really? Are you willing to give up everything you’ve built?” you say lightheartedly.

The question was rhetorical more than anything.

“In exchange for peace and happiness like this? If only things were as easy as that, I would have done so a long time ago,” he muses pensively, gazing up at the sky, eyes seemingly searching for a shooting star to grant him his wish.

You weren’t expecting him to answer with such sincerity because for the most part, you figured that his response would have been a straightforward ‘no’—who in the right mind would want to give up such a grand life? But then again, you knew him well enough to understand what truly mattered to him.

Happiness like this. This–you and him–this is what makes him happy. It’s not because of some 300-acre land being developed into a resort, nor some casino in a 5-star hotel; it’s not his collection of silk neckties, his Oxford shoes, nor his bespoke furniture. It’s the simplicity of him holding you in his arms, the certainty of you pressing your ear against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, and knowing that he’s right here with you. This is what he’d give everything up for.

You can’t help but smile in content, your body enveloping you in a profound sense of solace, “Well, whatever you choose to do, you have my heart. I hope you know that.”

“I’ll cherish it forever,” he says as gently as the nighttime breeze, his utterance dancing in the wind like a sacred promise.

“So, when will be the next time I’ll be seeing you?”

He purses his lips, “I have to go back home to Japan for another two months in order to oversee a few projects.”

You trail your eyes to the sand, nodding, “Oh, okay… At least that’s shorter than last time.”

“I suppose,” he sighs.

When you look back at him, you notice the way he’s now absentmindedly staring straight ahead, “You’ve got your thinking face on again. What’s on your mind?”

Another troubled sigh leaves him. He takes a moment to compose his thoughts before he turns to face you once more, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something for quite some time now, but I wanted to do it in person. I thought asking you on your birthday was too soon and maybe too much for you to think about, but I think now is a good time.”

You tap your fingernails against the side of your mug, furrowing your brows at the sudden shift in his tone, “O-Oh… What is it?”

He takes your hand, stopping your gestures of anxiousness, “Our Chief Marketing Officer is retiring next year and our company will be doing a small restructuring. I’ve seen your resumé and it’s extensive in terms of achievements. On top of that, the executives are impressed with the campaigns you’re currently managing and they’re open to having you on board. So with that, I was wondering if you would consider working for my company?”

You blink at him, asking yourself if you correctly heard the words he just told you and convincing yourself that you had just imagined it.

“I’m sorry?” your eyes widen, chuckling in disbelief, “Did you just ask me to be your next CMO?”

He nods, giving your hand a squeeze, “Essentially, yes.”

Oh. So you didn’t just conjure it up. Wait… What?

You continue to stare at the man in front of you, the realization of what he had just asked you hitting you all at once. In flashes, your mind rapidly visualizes the life you could be living if you were to accept his offer—getting the chance to see him every day, having the opportunity to work with well-respected businesspeople, managing a team, and building your credentials even more. But this could also mean unparalleled stakes, incredible pressure, a frenzy of stress, and a completely different environment you’re used to. It’s all fun and games until you fuck something up and it costs the reputation of his entire business.

“I’m not sure,” you exhale shakily once the thoughts settle, “Listen, this is a really, really great opportunity. Like, I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am that you’re even considering me, but I–I don’t think I’m skilled enough to take on such a huge role.”

The corner of his lips twitches, as if he’s in silent disagreement to what you just said, “Hey, come on. Don’t say that. I think you’re more than capable.”

“I also don’t want you offering me the role just because I’m your girlfriend. There’s probably so  many people more qualified than I am. Maybe… Maybe you should consider them instead,” you mutter, lowering your head in shame.

He’s quick to tip your chin up, making you look him in the eye, “My dear, you have to give yourself more credit. Being my girlfriend and someone who I genuinely believe can handle the work of being an executive don’t have to be mutually exclusive things,” he pauses to give you a smile of assurance, “You have so much potential. I’m sure you’ll be able to learn the ropes of the position quickly.”

There’s sincerity in the way he speaks. He unconditionally believes in you with all his heart, and it breaks yours to know that you couldn’t say ‘yes’ to him right away, even if it meant seeing him more often than you normally do, even if it meant a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you’re sure you’re never going to get ever again if you let this one go. But, you also didn’t want to rush into it because you know you deserve to be confident with your decision and he deserved someone who was willing to commit wholeheartedly. And you’re not there just yet.

“It’s just… I don’t know if I can handle taking such a huge risk right now. I have to leave my home and the job I’ve had for years. I have to leave everything I know behind. I’m not even well-versed in your language,” you say in exasperation, exhaling a deep breath afterwards, “I’ll need some time to think about it. Is that alright?”

You were so caught up in the topic that you’re only now realizing how tightly he’s been holding onto your hand.

His tense expression and grip on you softens. He seems to be relieved knowing that you didn’t completely shut down the offer and that you were willing to let the idea simmer in your mind, “Of course it is. I didn’t expect you to give me an answer right now anyway. If the CMO position is too much for you, you can always start off as an associate and step up in the future when you feel like you’re ready. You have more than a year to consider it, and more than a year to learn Japanese,” he chuckles softly, “I’ll respect any decision you make.”

“I don’t think a year is enough to learn it,” you respond, reciprocating his light laughter.

His reassurance alleviates you, any semblance of pressure ceasing the moment he expressed his unyielding and unreserved support for you. It makes you smile at him warmly, sinking your cup of tea into the sand before you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shirt, “Thank you. I’ll have to weigh out my options, but rest assured I’ll take everything into consideration. I—This is really, I mean, this really means so much to me, you have no idea. So… Thank you.”

You echo your appreciation, hoping the cadence of your voice is enough for the sentiment to resonate in the extent you actually meant it.

He binds you in an embrace, placing a light kiss on the top of your head, “You already know how proud I am of you. Whatever you end up choosing, just know that I’ll be here to support you.”

Despite everything you’re unsure of at this point of your life, one thing is certain—the affection you’ve been harboring for him is only becoming more profound. If you have yet to grow enough courage to take the plunge and accept his job offer, at least you have enough to let him know how you feel about him.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something as well,” you say, unwrapping your arms around him and scooting backwards to get a better view of him.

“Hm?” he raises a curious brow, “Go ahead.”

“Um,” you start, heaving a breath to compose the superfluity of things running in your mind. There’s so much you wanted to tell him, and you can only hope you’re able to get your message across.

“I can’t even begin to put into words how unbelievable my time with you has been. It really does feel like I’m imagining things. I mean—how could someone like you end up with some random, insignificant person like me, right?”

He’s about to retort but you rest your hand on his knee, shaking your head.

“Well, at least that’s what I originally thought,” you continue, “Back then, every time you looked at me, I always questioned whether or not I was making things up, whether or not there was a possibility that you could have actually liked me. I let my idea of you be influenced by my insecurity and by things that people who barely knew you would say, and I’m sure you must have hated that. I know that the day of our argument is long behind us, but I can’t help wondering how it was possible for me to lie to you so recklessly, to be so dishonest with my words and with my feelings. I can't help thinking back to the night we ran to each other again and realizing just how goddamn lucky I was to have gotten the chance to tell you what I truly wanted to say. And, I’m not one to believe in all this fate bullshit, but it can’t just be coincidence, right? How could things have lined up so perfectly?”

You smile in reminiscence. He listens to you intently.

“I don’t know if I’m even making sense,” you chuckle, nervously rubbing the back of your neck, “But I guess what I’m trying to get at is that you've shown me time and time again that there's no reason for me to be insecure about myself. You've helped me understand that our differences are trivial, and I don’t ever want to hide my true feelings for you ever again because I—I love you. I love you so goddamn much, it’s ridiculous."

He says your name. The tone of his voice makes you panic and overcompensate for the adrenaline you’re feeling by speaking once more.

“And it might be too soon for me to say it, but I don’t really care. I just wanted you to hear it and know how much you mean to me. You don’t have to say it back right now, I’ll un—”

He lurches forward, lips crashing into yours, shutting you up from your rambling. You freeze, eyes widened. But once you manage to process what's going on, you surrender to him, eyelids fluttering shut as your hands come up to rest on his chest. The kiss he gives you is different. It's the gentle yet fervent. It burns with the passion of a thousand fires yet is as calming as the color blue. It's as if he's been saving it for this exact moment, and that was all you needed to understand that the sentiment was mutual.

“I really thought you were going to say it when we were on the plane,” he utters when he breaks away, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I almost did,” you bite down on your bottom lip sheepishly.

“I know,” he pulls back, scanning your eyes. It takes him some time to compose his own words, “You’re right. The chances of everything turning out the way it had is rare, but I also can’t just chalk it up to chance encounters and strokes of luck. We might have been given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to run into each other that day, but it was us who chose to forgive each other and start over, right? We chose to be together despite the distance, and I believe that the choices we made given what was thrown to us are far more significant than coincidences. It’s us who made this relationship work, and it will be us to decide whether or not it continues to work out in the future. And I don’t want unspoken feelings to come in between us again, okay? I don’t want you to be afraid of telling me anything, so it makes me so incredibly happy to know that you’re being honest with me. I promise I’ll try my best to do the same and I hope I can continue being someone who’s worthy of your trust.”

His fingers dance around yours before he entwines them together, bringing your hand up to his lips and delicately placing kisses on your knuckles, “I always thought that nothing would make me happier than money and success. I thought that nothing else mattered more than what other people said about me, but I was wrong. When I became too desperate trying to keep my reputation taintless, you came around and showed me that there's so much more to life than that. So, thank you. Thank you for making my life worth living. I love you too, my dear. I’ve loved you ever since.”

The doubts that clouded your mind that week when you first met him have long been buried, now just serving as a reminder of how compassionate time has been to you both. With the options he presented to you tonight, a future where the two of you are together appears to be something within reach. It all comes down to whether or not things align. You’d like to believe with all your heart that it will, and it’s all a matter of choice, as he said—you just hope that you’ll be brave enough to make the right one.

It brings you comfort to know that to him, you’re the sanctuary in the midst of the despair his restless life brings. Whenever he’s with you, there’s a moment of stillness and he knows that though you’ve had your share of ups and downs, you’d never expect him to be any less or more than what he truly is—a mere person.

A person who feels joy, who’s prone to frustration, jealousy, annoyance, and loneliness. A person who has the capacity to protect, to comfort, to uplift, and above all, to love.

In fact, one of the packages he sent you arrived at your doorstep earlier in the morning, but you told yourself that you’d open it after work as some sort of reward for finishing the week’s tasks and deliverables. So, upon coming home after a long day, you open up his present excitedly, emitting a lighthearted laugh as you stare at the sheer lace lingerie set encased in a fancy velvet box in front of you. Attached to it is a small note written in familiar handwriting:

Won’t you try this on for me, dear?

You bite down on your smile, cheeks warming as you check your clock app and swipe through the timezones to see what time it is in the country he’s currently staying for a business trip, realizing that you have about an hour before you’re scheduled to call him.

So after taking a quick shower, you try on the set he gifted you, and it fits perfectly. It accentuates the curves of your body and hugs your figure so well you wonder if he had it tailor fit for you.

Wearing the lingerie gets you in the mood, and having gone so long without seeing Nanami has definitely upped your need for physical touch tenfold. That coupled with your hectic day at work, you decide to pass the time by letting off some steam.

After settling comfortably on the bed and staring blankly ahead of you for a moment, you start to lightly brush your fingers up your inner thighs, feeling the heat in between them growing every minute that passes.

Without further delay for the sake of your sanity, you spread your legs wide, pull your panties aside and dip your fingers inside you, a small whine escaping you when your index comes up to brush against your bundle of nerves. The thought of the man who gave you the undergarments you’re wearing, the thought of him ripping it off and telling you he’d buy you another one clouds your mind.

Fuck. Fuck. You miss him.

Over time, the pace of your thrusts quickens. And with patience running thin, you bring your other hand up to continuously circle around your clit, walls clenching around your fingers as the familiar knotting feeling in your core inches closer and closer.

But just as you’re about to finish, your phone begins to ring, completely distracting you. With a groan, you reach for it with your free hand, seeing Nanami’s name. Your heart skips a beat, not having noticed how much time had already passed.

“Hey, what’s up?” you say after picking up, keeping your phone close to your face in order to conceal the way you’re clad only in lingerie, caught in the middle of a session.

“Hey, am I calling at a bad time?”

“Uh… Not really. I just got out of the shower. Unwinding,” you say vaguely with a sheepish laugh, watching him get out of the car and onto a bright, open space, “Where are you headed to right now?”

“I’m at the airport. Remember that private jet I was thinking about getting?”

You raise an intrigued brow, “Yeah? Is it finally there?”

The video is shaky as he walks, but then he flips the view of the camera, revealing the exterior of his new investment—an Airbus ACJ320 Neo jet.

“What do you think?” he asks, and though you can’t see him, you hear the subtle excitement in his voice.

“Whoa…” is all you manage to say, trying to absorb the fact that he actually bought a private plane after you jokingly suggested it as a way for him to see you more often.

The moment you brought it up, he considered it with a soft “hm” and there was no stopping him from there; the next time he called you, he was already in the process of talking to a supplier, much to your protest. But then he reasoned out that it was probably better in the long-run if he did get one, considering all his business trips around the globe.

“It’s quite spacious,” he says, pulling you out of your stunned state and making you realize that you’ve been absentmindedly staring at your screen for a couple of minutes. By this point, he’s already made his way up the steps and inside of the jet, giving you a tour of the interior.

“Kento, this is crazy. How much did you get this for?” you squint as you try to appreciate all the details and intricacies through the screen; you’ve barely gotten over the exterior, but now that you’re seeing how it looks on the inside, you’re absolutely gobsmacked. It’s a luxury you never could have even imagined.

“Around 115 million, but that’s without the customizations. I think it’s a little below 200 all in all,” he says casually as if he’d just talked about his total at the grocery, continuing to show you around the lounge, then to the conference room, the kitchen, and then the cinema room.

All you can do is laugh in pure amusement and disbelief.

“Here’s the best part,” he chimes before you’re even able to say something, opening a door to reveal the private master bedroom decked with a king-sized bed and a flatscreen television built into the wall of the cabin, “Worth the investment, don’t you think so?”

“I think I know what you mean now,” you reply knowingly with a smirk.

He flips the camera back to face him, and the little smile he gives you is enough to make your heart race.

“Come pick me up,” you jest, giving him a toothy smile, “I miss you.”

It's inconspicuous through your phone, but his eyes glimmer upon hearing you say that, “Actually, I wanted to let you know that I’ll be having a business meeting in France next week, but I’ll be free on the weekend after then. How about you? I wanted to take you on a little getaway.”

You sit up, shifting on the bed so you’re reclined against the headboard, eyes widening, “Wait, seriously?”

He slides the bedroom door shut and proceeds to the lounge, taking a seat on one of the recliners, “If nothing urgent comes up, but I promise I’ll try my best to keep it free.”

“You don’t have to force yourself if you can’t make it,” you feel your chest tighten, not because of anything bad, but just out of sheer eagerness with the idea of seeing him again, even if it was just a probability at this moment. But, knowing him, he wouldn’t bring it up in the first place if he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it.

“You’re not the only one who misses someone, you know,” he says softly, a little bit sheepish to admit it. He looks adorable.

“Aw, I want to hear you say it,” you pout.

“…I miss you too,” the corner of his lips twitch upwards, yearning evident in the way he says it.

Warmth envelopes you instantaneously. All you want to do is see him as soon as you can so you can squish his cheeks and hug him tight and kiss him and just give him all the love in the world, all the love that he deserved. You miss him so goddamn much, it physically hurts.

Silence settles. This is a common occurrence in your calls at times, but it didn’t bother you one bit. There would be instances where you’d simply accompany each other as you do your own thing, and you’re just grateful you can spend some time with him despite the distance and both of your hectic schedules. He mutes his phone as he looks up, and you can tell that he’s talking to someone out of frame.

After some time, he unmutes, “I need to sign some papers but I’ll keep the call going. I’ll be back shortly.”

“No rush.”

He places his phone flat against the table so that the only thing you’re looking at is the ceiling of the jet. The lack of conversation suddenly reminds you of what you were up to right before he called you. And it didn’t help either that he showed you the plane’s master bedroom because now, you’ve got a blueprint for your vivid imagination to play with. So, unable to resist yourself, you mute your phone and place it down right next to you.

Still a little bit sensitive from almost reaching your climax earlier, you continue where you left off with slow ministrations, hoping that you could get off by the time that he comes back.

Once in a while, you’d glance at your phone and see that it’s the same as where he’d left it. You figured that a vibrator would have done the job quicker, but for some reason, you haven’t gotten around to investing in one. And yes, you’re well aware of how much you’re missing out.

After several minutes, you begin to feel pleasure constantly bubble up in your core once again. And so with quick strokes, you desperately try to reach your orgasm when—

“Do you want anything from France?” his sudden voice causes your heart to skip a beat as you grab your phone with your free hand and put it close to your face again.

But this time around, you don’t stop what you’re doing. You can’t help it—you’re already so damn close.

“Mmhm,” you hum in contemplation, a poor attempt at disguising your moans, “Well, I’ve been craving macarons for some time now.”

“Anything else?”

You stifle a small whimper, biting down on your lip as you’re beginning to lose control of your reactions, “Surprise me.”

“I’ll take note. There’s also a local vineyard there that produces one of the best wines I’ve tasted. I’ll get one for you to try.”

In the middle of him speaking, you turn your camera off, unable to bear being seen in your state.

“Oh, yeah? I’d love to try it,” you say, a pitch higher than normal.

Then finally, an overwhelming wave of bliss hits you, causing your eyelids to flutter shut while you bite down on your pillow, hoping that it was enough to drown out any sound you make as you hit your peak and draw it out as long as you can.

“One last thing,” he says.

There’s a pause. He’s waiting for your reply.

“Hm?” is all you can let out, prying an eye open to take a peek at him as you try to recompose yourself from your high.

“Turn your video back on,” he instructs.

“Give me a minute…” you attempt to conceal your breathlessness, your cheek pressed against the pillow as you’re sprawled across the bed, spent.

“No, sweetheart. Do it now.”

Shit. With the tone of his voice, you know he’s caught you red-handed.

You’re quick to slick your hair back, trying to look presentable before you finally do as he’d ask you to, looking at how noticeable your reddened cheeks were through the screen. If you’d just suspected he knew what you were up to earlier, you’re certain now.

“Yes?” you say innocently with a warm, unassuming smile.

He raises a brow, smirking, “Are you having fun without me?”

Your cheeks turn even redder than it already was. It practically looked like you had on a filter, “...Was I being that obvious?”

“I happen to know what you sound like when you’re about to orgasm,” he says smugly, “Do you really miss me that much?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, beyond flustered, grabbing one of your pillows and hiding your flushed face behind it.

“Don’t make me fly over there right now.”

You chuckle, “You say that like it’s a threat.”

He reciprocates your soft laugh, “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll take good care of you the next time we see each other. Anyway, did you get my package?”

“Yes!” you beam, “I’m wearing it right now actually and it fits perfectly. I love it, thank you. Wanna see?”

“Wait,” he looks up, scouring around him to see if anyone was nearby.

“Oops, it was a yes or no question. Times up.”

“Darling, you know what happens when you tease me.”

“Maybe I’m in dire need of a reminder,” you say mischievously.

He purses his lips, and despite him not uttering a single word, the silence is telling enough. You’re really in for a treat, aren’t you?

Just then, he gets a reminder from a familiar voice, something about how he needs to finalize some documents before a conference later on.

“Is that Ijichi?” you chime, “Tell him I say hi.”

“It is, and he’s reminding me about a meeting I have at nine. Ijichi, a minute please.”

His secretary saunters over, barely in frame. You take a moment to wrap yourself up with your blanket.

“Tell her what you told me,” Nanami says and gives him the phone.

Ijichi looks panicked, sheepishly rubbing his nape, “I’m sorry for having to cut the call short, miss! We’ll be borrowing him momentarily for a conference.”

You laugh, “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s in high demand. Make sure he gets some rest, okay?”

The secretary nods, with conviction as if a soldier being given an order, “Yes, ma’am.”

With that, Nanami takes his phone back.

“Well, you heard him. I’ll be taking my leave now,” he sighs dolefully.

“That’s alright,” you say tenderly, “I’ll be heading to bed soon anyway. Until what time is your meeting?”

“Maybe until 12.”

“Okay,” you say in a sing-song tune.

He raises a brow, “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” you shrug.

He narrows his eyes at you, but ultimately drops the suspicion, “Alright then, I’ll talk to you when I can. Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well,” he says warmly.

“Okay. Good luck with the day,” you blow him a kiss.

“Don’t forget—I want to see how my gift suits you,” he quickly adds.

“We’ll see. Bye!” you giggle, dropping the call before he can pester you about the topic as another way to tease him. If he’d been keeping tabs of how much you’ve done just that, you know you’re in for a hell of a ride the next time you see him.

Before you head to bed, you take mirror selfies of yourself wearing the set he gave in risqué poses for his viewing pleasure. But of course, you weren’t going to let him wait. No, in fact, you had a way more daring plan than that—you wait until it’s 10:30 in his timezone, and that’s when you send him the photos, knowing full well that he’d be in his meeting. The message gets read almost immediately, but it takes him several minutes to respond:

You look stunning as always, my dear.

A smug smile manifests on your face, but it quickly falters when he sends a second message:

But next time reconsider sending it while I’m in the middle of a conference. :)

Nanami using a smiley? Holy shit. You’re so screwed.

* * *

The aircraft looked more extravagant up-close and personal. It was difficult to gauge its size when viewing it from your phone, but when you saw it with your own eyes, your jaw dropped; you had expected it to be a quaint jet, but you were wrong. Way wrong . The thing was the same size as a passenger plane yet everything inside was modified to carry only a sizable number of people. If anything, its lavishness was more akin to a fancy penthouse apartment.

For the first couple hours of the flight, the response to your “where are we going?” has been rather elusive, as it had been for the past two weeks. Nanami’s really drawn out the secret, but you don’t really mind; the mystery of it all thrills you. Not only that, but seeing him looking forward to taking you somewhere enough to keep you on your toes was incredibly endearing.

However, you’re unable to contain your curiosity. And if he’s not going to tell you, then you might as well play a guessing game with him as the two of you sit across from each other in the lounge, in the middle of snacking on a charcuterie platter.

“Western Hemisphere?” you blurt out, picking up a slice of prosciutto with a cheese fork.

He shakes his head, eyeing the fruits and deciding between the blueberries or the strawberries.

“East then. Hm… Considering you asked me to bring my swimwear, I’m going to make a wild guess and say it’s in a tropical country. Somewhere in Asia, perhaps?”

“That’s right,” he ultimately changes his mind and stabs a piece of Gouda cheese instead.

You narrow your eyes, trying to figure out which among the tropical countries within the continent you should even begin with, and so you start naming all that you can remember, with each one gaining a “no” from him.

With a sigh, you recline on your seat, trying to rack your brain up for any more places. But, you come up with nothing.

“I’m beat,” you huff, peering at him through your lashes, noticing the way he’s staring at the slice of sourdough bread, the last one there was on the platter because you’ve eaten almost all of it—there it was, your opportunity.

Deviously, you take it before he can, seeing the silent devastation in his eyes as you bring it close to your lips.

“Come on, all you have to do is tell me where we’re going,” you wriggle your brows, “Then you can have this.”

“Are you seriously using bread as leverage over me?”

You open your mouth, bringing the sourdough closer and closer, “Mhm, it does smell delicious.”

He stares at you, then at the only slice of bread left. As you could have predicted, he gives in with a sigh of defeat and presses the button of the intercom beside his seat, “Ino, how much longer until we arrive at our destination?”

A grin manifests on your face as you bend over the table to feed the sourdough to him, watching the way his eyes glint, “Bread over me? You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s not just any kind of bread, it’s sourdough straight from France—”

“Touchdown to Malé International Airport will be in about two hours, sir,” responds the pilot, disrupting what you assume is the beginning of Nanami’s long monologue about the intricacies of the French country bread he just consumed.

You didn’t mind listening, if only it weren’t for the pilot’s announcement. You blink, and once the words settle, you snap your attention back to face Nanami, “Wait, did I hear that right? Malé? You mean we’re going to Maldives?”

“Yes. Have you ever been there before?”

“Never,” you have to hold yourself back from squealing, unable to resist the giddiness that starts to overflow, “You know, Maldives is actually one of my dream destinations.”

“Really?” he perks up.

“Mhm,” you smile widely, “I’ve been dreaming to go here since I was a child.”

“I didn’t know that. I guess it’s a good coincidence then,” there’s pure affection in the smile he reciprocates.

“Coincidence. We’ve had a lot of that, haven't we?”

Bending over the table once more, you plant a light kiss onto his cheek then graze your lips over his, just enough to leave him wanting more, before you recline back onto your seat.

“We have two hours. Do you want to watch a movie in the bedroom?” he asks immediately afterwards.

Your expression shifts to a smirk, “Are we actually going to watch a movie?”

Matching the look on your face, he gets up and walks over to you, “Let’s see.”

Without warning, he scoops you up into a bridal carry and you’re quick to latch onto his neck, grinning up at him as he heads to the cabin by the tail end of the aircraft, using his foot to slide the door open and shut behind him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks once he sets you down onto the mattress.

“In general or right now?” you reply as you kick your shoes off and scoot to one side of the bed.

“Is there a difference?” he tilts his head, ridding himself of his coat, shoes, watch, and tie to place on the bedside table.

“In general? Tired from work. Which is why I’m beyond grateful for you taking me on this trip. I haven’t been on a break since… Since I first met you actually,” you beam, opening your arms out for him, “So, if you’re asking about how I’m feeling right now, well—I’m very happy.”

He doesn’t hesitate to accept the invitation, joining you on the bed as he wraps you in a tight embrace before pulling the sheets up to cover you both, “That’s all I want. I hope this is enough to make up for not seeing you the past three months.”

You pull him closer to you, revelling in the comfort of his body heat as you bury your face on the crook of his neck, taking a whiff of the expensive cologne he wears, “Are you kidding me? This is more than enough. Thank you, you have no idea how much I really needed this.”

“Are you being overworked?” he traces your spine with his fingers, soothing you.

“Just a little, but it’s understandable,” you mutter before looking up at him with a wide smile, “I’m handling a very important client. You might be familiar with him.”

“Oh?” he quirks a brow up, playing into your antics, “Do tell me about him.”

Rolling to lay on your stomach, you rest your chin on your palms, “He’s this bigshot in the hospitality industry and owns multiple multinational businesses.”

He hums, caressing your forearm with the back of his index and feigning contemplation, “Hm… Sounds very familiar. What else?”

“Crazy rich, tall, and super attractive. I mean, like— hot hot, it’s insane,” you say in exasperation, then smile at him tenderly, “But above everything, he is the kindest, most hardworking, and good-hearted person I know.”

It seems as if he finds genuine enjoyment in the way you’d just described him. He stares at you with infallible affection before he gently grabs your wrist and leans into you, lips moulding onto yours chastely. When he breaks the kiss, he examines you carefully, stroking the pad of his thumb right on the apple of your cheek.

Despite your words and the way you seem to make light of your load, there’s still a look of concern still on his features, “Hey, if our account manager is being a pain in the ass to deal with, just let me know. I can have him back down on you if he’s too much.”

You shake your head, leaning into his touch and trying to keep your mind off the list of revisions one of his company’s account managers sent over the past week, “You don’t have to. I’m up for the challenge. Besides, I want him–and most importantly you–to be wholeheartedly satisfied with the campaign pitches I’ve prepared.”

“Well, I’m certain we’ll be more than satisfied,” he assures you, moving his leg in between your thighs.

You raise a brow, too absorbed in the conversation to realize you’ve untucked his shirt from his trousers and slithered a hand under it to wrap around him, “Are you saying that as my client or as the person I’m dating?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Good answer,” you smile at him in contentment.

He presses a doting kiss on your forehead, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?” you squeak out, lips curving downwards as they slowly start to quiver.

He notices your reaction, the way those four words manage to have such an effect on you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all. I just haven’t heard that in forever.”

“I am,” he says firmly, “And you should be too. You’re amazing at what you do.”

The confirmation is enough to bring tears into your eyes. You snuggle up to him so tightly, you feel like you’re about to crush him. He releases a soft chuckle, resting his chin on top of your head and casually placing a hand on top of your butt.

“Also, am I still just ‘a person you're dating’?” he asks curiously, out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” you look up at him in confusion.

He takes a moment to contemplate, “We’ve been seeing–well, whatever that word means to us–each other for almost half a year. Don’t you think it’s time we make it official?”

You sit up, keeping your eyes on him, “Are you saying you want to call me your girlfriend?”

He follows suit so that you two are seated face-to-face, “I do. I like you very much, and I hope I’ve made my feelings and intentions known to you. I know we don’t see each other in person as much as normal couples do, but I want to be with you, commit to you. And if it means flying out to see you whenever I get the chance, then so be it. But only if you feel the same way and if you’re ready, I don’t want to rush into things.”

Delicately, you graze your fingers against his before interweaving them together, “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to bring this up.”

“Have you?” he says anxiously, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

You nod, blushing, “I feel the same way about everything. I lo—” your eyes widen and you clear your throat, your heartbeat skyrocketing, “—like you quite a lot, Kento. And the things that you do for me, I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am. So yes, I’m ready to take the next step into our relationship. Nothing would make me happier.”

A trembling sigh escapes you. You hope he didn’t catch on to that subtle yet telling vowel, not because you didn’t want to tell him those words, but because you were nervous that he might have thought that it was too soon for you to do so. But being the person that he is, he’s always been rather intuitive.

He stares at you in content, eyes boring straight into yours as your already quickened heartbeat continues to accelerate. The silence is suffocating; only a few moments have passed but to you, it feels like it’s been minutes. Each second that passes urges you to say it, up to the point wherein you convince yourself that you can, and you will.

You take a deep breath, “I—”

Then, as comical as always, something work-related manages to disrupt the moment. His phone begins to receive a barrage of emails all at once. With a frustrated grunt, he reaches over and places his device on ‘Do Not Disturb’ before placing it back on the bedside table screen down.

He returns to his original position, “Sorry, were you about to say something?”

“Oh, nothing important,” you say meekly, the courage you built up from earlier dissipating in an instant. Maybe it’s a sign that this isn’t the right time yet, “Seems to me that you’re the one being overworked.”

“It’s the usual,” he shrugs, reposing his forehead on your shoulder, returning to the earlier topic, “But I’m beyond elated to know that we’re on the same page.”

“I am too,” you sigh happily, rubbing the length of his arm, the other coming up to lightly scratch on his undercut, “Do you want to rest? You must be more tired than I am.”

He pulls back, seemingly regaining his energy as he takes your hand and places small kisses on your palm, “There’s no need to compare. If you’re tired, then you’re tired, and I want you to relax, darling. So lie back down and I’ll take care of you this time around.”

“You spoil me too much,” you tell him sheepishly yet with gratitude, moving to recline comfortably on the pillows.

“And you deserve no less,” with eyes locked on yours, he begins to unbutton your pants, noticing the way your breaths turn heavy almost immediately, “Are you alright with this?”

You nod, helping him by wriggling out of your garments, the cold air brushing up against your bare legs, “Come here and kiss me.”

And so he does exactly that, the newly defined relationship fuels this exchange with heated passion. The thought of being able to call him yours and yours alone fills you with euphoria, the thought of spending the weekend with him fills you with excitement.

You swing your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss you deeper. His hand slips underneath your panties, a gasp leaving you the moment his icy fingers make contact.

“Hands. Cold,” you shudder.

“Won’t you be a good girl and warm them up for me then?” he brings it back up, running the fingers he’d just inserted in you mere moments ago on your lips.

Closing your mouth around his extremities, you suck them until they’re wet and warm, just as he’d ask. Once he’s satisfied, he pulls his hand out and returns them to where they were previously, your saliva and arousal making it incredibly easy for him to slip his fingers in.

A shiver runs down your spine, finding the stretch wonderfully pleasurable. His hands were so much bigger than yours, managing to fill you up in ways you’re simply unable to. All you could do is moan as he begins to thrust into you. He’s familiarized himself with your sweet spot, skilfully curling his fingers to hit it each time while simultaneously circling your front. The combined sensation is more than enough for you to let out a wanton cry, bucking your hips upwards uncontrollably.

All the while, he adorns your body with kisses, making his way down your neck, collarbone, chest, and abdomen; he greedily sucks on your flesh, but is careful enough not to leave any marks. At least, not in places that are visible when you’re wearing a swimsuit. With the hand not preoccupied with pleasuring you, he spreads your legs wider, licking a long, slow stripe on your inner thigh, tasting the slick that had started dripping down your thighs due to his ministrations.

Your hand practically shoots to grip his hair when he replaces his fingers with his tongue, flicking them at your entrance before looking up at you, gauging your reactions, “How does this feel?”

“Ah—Amazing. We’ve never… You haven’t gone down on me yet,” you whimper, covering your mouth with your other hand, feeling rather embarrassed.

“Don’t be shy,” he hums, the vibrations of his voice prickling your skin, “You taste so good.”

Whilst craning your head upwards to hide your fluster, an even louder cry is ripped from the back of your throat as he dips his tongue deeper. You shift on the mattress, the added friction intoxicatingly addicting.

“Close…” your vocabulary is reduced to so little at this point. Upon hearing that, he starts to rub harder strokes onto your clit, making your toes curl and your back arch, “Fuck, yes. Yes, just like that. Please keep going, please, please. ”

He does exactly as instructed, keeping his pressure and rhythm constant all throughout. The nonstop motion of his hands paired with his tongue tips you over the edge, causing you to convulse under him, your eyes slamming shut as moans erupted from your core. He groans out when your hold on his roots tightens, causing him to firmly latch onto your thigh as your mewls turn softer, only to be replaced by heavy breaths as you slowly recover from your orgasm.

“Sorry,” you smile shyly as you let go of him, “I couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s quite some grip you got there,” he teases, getting on his knees and licking the slick off his fingers, “I think I get it now.”

“Are you into it?” your smile turns into a promiscuous grin.

“Only because it’s you,” he finds his place beside you and wraps you up in his arms. With his body pressed so closely against yours, you could easily feel his hard-on.

You smirk, “How much time before we land?”

He reaches for his phone to check the time, “Enough time.”

You feel like you’re going to have a meltdown, and it doesn’t help when you hear Nanami start to speak faster, quickly concluding his speech about how he’s excited to see where the partnership goes before he passes the microphone back to your company president and excuses himself hurriedly.

Seeing him walk down the steps and immediately head towards you prompts you to turn around and briskly make your way outside and across the hallway to the elevators, frantically pressing the button going down.

Not too long after, you hear your name being called out, and when you take a second to glance back at him, he’s approaching you with a distressed expression. Despite telling yourself that you would have given anything in exchange to see him again, to tell him everything you actually meant, you’re completely caught off guard and you don’t know if you’re in the right headspace to open up a conversation like that with him right now.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Wait—” he tells you, picking up his pace, but you make your way inside regardless.

“Hurry up,” you say, practically ramming your index against the ‘close’ button multiple times.

But then you hear his footsteps grow louder until a hand stops the doors from sliding shut, and you find yourself trapped in the elevator with none other than Kento Nanami—the man you’ve stupidly fallen for over the span of less than a week, and the man whom you’ve consequently had to spend more than a year trying to forget about. Emphasis on trying.

“Why are you running from me?” his tall frame towers over you, causing you to take a step backwards.

“I don’t know. I panicked and my body just moved on its own,” you admit in sincerity, keeping your eyes focused on your shoes.

He purses his lips upon hearing that, then gives the control panel a once-over.

38, 33, 28… The numbers are decreasing too quickly for his liking. So, he tinkers with the control panel and finds the emergency stop button. The lift jerks before it comes to a halt, making you flinch in surprise.

At this point, your back is now pressed against the elevator wall, keeping your distance from him as you try to steady your breaths. He notices your demeanour, taking a step back himself so that he is at least an arm’s length away from you in an attempt to ease you from your obvious discomfort.

“Do you not want to see me?” he asks cautiously.

You had imagined scenarios wherein you’d cross paths with him again, all of which had you envisioning him to be either fuming mad upon seeing you, or ignoring you completely. None of them could have ever prepared you for the reality.

But the elevator? Seriously?

Well, at least there’s no one to disrupt you, but it also means that there was no running away this time.

“No, it’s not that,” you shake your head, “It’s just—I never expected to see you again, out of all people and places.”

“I didn’t know you worked for this company.”

“Well, surprise, I guess,” you mutter meekly with a shrug.

There’s an uncomfortable pause. You discretely peer at him through your lashes, watching him bring his hand up to rub the back of his neck, in silent contemplation of what words to approach you next.

“Um. How have you been?” he asks awkwardly, “You haven’t been answering my messages nor my calls.”

Your eyes widen upon hearing that, expecting him to be distant or dismissive, but that’s not the case. And once again, you’re thrown off, “You’ve been messaging me?”

His brows scrunch up in confusion, “Well, sometime before… Did you not get them?”

“No, that number was from an international SIM card. I changed it out the moment I got back here.”

The realization slowly sinks in, “Oh. So you haven’t been ignoring me?”

“I don’t think I really had a say in the matter.”

He keeps his eyes on you in silence, trying to make sense if you had meant it as a joke or if you were being serious. And honestly, even you didn’t know. You look at your hands, fiddling with your fingers.

“Anyway, I’ve been busy with work,” you continue, maintaining your distance, “I’m sure you’ve been the same? I heard the merger worked out, so congrats on that. It’s good to know you’ve been doing well.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s been okay,” is all he manages to say.

The eloquence he displayed while giving his speech earlier is completely thrown out of the window—he’s as shell-shocked to see you as you were to see him.

Your lips part, about to speak but he beats you to it.

“Can we talk? It’s been more than a year.”

“O-Okay, yeah,” you respond, more anxious now, heart thumping like there’s no tomorrow, “I was going to say the same thing.”

He purses his lips, blinking at you, still seemingly trying to formulate his words. You stare back at him, pulling up all the sentiments you’ve been harboring towards him from the depths of your heart. And if he won’t be the first one to speak up, then you’ll do it instead.

You’ll never be given this chance ever again. Skip the pleasantries and skirting around the topic. Skip the confessions. All you need to do is apologize. That’s it, and the two of you can move on with your lives with proper closure.

You can do it, right? You promised yourself you’d lower your pride, that you’d never allow it to destroy anything good in your life ever again.

So, you ball up your fists and heave a deep breath. Now or never.

“Look, I know how horribly we ended things. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything I did. I just—I was drunk and angry and frustrated. It hurt, you know? The way you reacted to me then. I guess… In a way I wanted you to feel the hurt that I felt. I wanted you to hate me so that it would be easier for me to leave you. That’s why I said all that, but I lied. I didn’t mean anything I said to you. And I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for that night, and maybe it’s too late for me to even be saying this, but I just want to apologize regardless.”

He stands still, processing everything you’ve just told him. You try to read into his expression—is he angry? Disappointed? Does he hate you even more now?

You don’t know for sure, not until he rubs his palm on his cheek, a sudden yet soft chuckle escaping him.

“I’m relieved,” he sighs, immediately catching you by surprise, “I couldn’t bear the thought of you hating me. I tried calling so many times but you never picked up so I figured you didn’t want to hear from me at all. I hope it’s not too late for me as well. That night—I can never forgive myself for what I did. You might not believe it, but it’s true when I told you that I didn’t want anyone speculating about who you were and what your relationship with me was. Not because I was afraid of what they’ll say, but because I was afraid that it would drive you away.”

You’re at a loss for words; it takes you seconds before you’re able to comprehend, “What… What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I liked you. A lot. I mean—I still do,” he releases a frustrated huff, probably finding it ridiculous to be admitting all these things in this manner at his age, but at this point, he couldn’t care less. Not with you on the line. He continues, “I wanted to tell you first before anyone else saw us together. But I had a lot of things on my mind and on my plate. I was so busy with the expansion that I couldn’t bring myself to settle my feelings for you. And before I knew it, you were gone.”

Is he actually confessing to you? The thought makes it difficult for you to breathe, anxiety creeping its way into the core of your body.

“It’s unfair, don’t you think? For you to come crashing back into my life the moment I thought I was over you? Don’t you know how hard it was for me?” you expire, cadence trembling, eyes becoming glassy.

He takes a single step forward, reaching out into the air, “Then let me be selfish just this once. All you have to do is say the word and you’ll never have to see me ever again, but before you do, please, just hear me out.”

You stare at him, at the way his brows are furrowed in desperation for you to listen to what he has to say. With a resigned sigh, you slowly nod your head, “Okay, fine."

“It was never my intention to hurt you,” he says firmly, finally getting the courage to clasp your hands apologetically, staring straight into your eyes, “Nor was it my intention to have let you slip out of my life that easily. If I could turn back time, I would have done more to have made you stay. It's been a year, and I know in my heart what I feel about you now. So, please, give me a chance to start over with you.”

You told yourself you’d forget him because you’d probably never be seeing him again. But here he is, right in front of you, giving you the chance to take everything back and begin again. The question now is—are you willing to take it?

One year. It was both too long and too short. Long, in the sense that you’ve been given time to grow, but short, in the sense that you’ve come to realize that you haven’t truly moved on from the spark of the fling you had one summer getaway. And you’d be a fool to convince yourself otherwise.

So, with a guarded heart, you decide with resolution that a second chance was worth the effort, and if it results in another heartbreak, then at least you can tell yourself with no regrets that you tried.

“Alright,” you say softly with a nod, peering up at him as you place your hand over his, “Let’s start over.”

His countenance softens as if a heavy burden has been lifted off his shoulders. He smiles warmly, relief glistening over his eyes, “I won’t waste it this time around.”

You reciprocate his expression, reaching up to stroke his cheek as silence settles. It remains that way for a while, not until his phone begins to ring, the moment dissipating as he reaches for it and answers the call, looking at you apologetically. You wave at him signalling it’s fine.

As he’s taking the call, he manages to get the lift back in operation once again.

“They’re looking for me. Are you going back to the event?” he asks you after dropping the call.

You shake your head, “I think I need to call it a night. I’m still feeling a little lightheaded, not to mention the long day I had at work earlier.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, a little disappointed for you to be leaving so soon.

The elevator door slides open when you reach the lobby and the both of you step out, stopping to face each other.

“Before you go, I’ve been invited to an art exhibition in a few days, would you like to accompany me?”

You smile sheepishly, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

He nods in response, “Yes.”

“Then yes. I’d love to go with you,” you turn on your heels, smile kept, “I’ll text you.”

“Uh-uh, hold on,” he stops you by grabbing your wrist, “How do you plan to do that?”

Remembering the phone situation and the entire reason you two haven’t been able to keep in contact in the first place, he hands you his phone and you input your number, your actual one, into it.

“I’ll pick you up at your place,” he takes his device back, examining his new contact.

“Message me and I’ll send you my address,” you smile at him with a tone of finality as you begin to head out of the building.

You’re by the sidewalk when you feel your phone vibrate. You stare at the familiar number before picking up, glancing to see him still looking at you from inside, “Hello?”

“Just making sure. I’ll see you, okay?”

* * *

It’s early in the afternoon when your phone rings, disrupting you from the search for your clutch bag. From the closet in your bedroom, you rush over to your kitchen, picking the phone up when you see your date’s name flash on the screen.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hi, I’m outside.”

“Oh, already?” you make your way to your living area, leaning against your balcony sliding door to peek at him from your curtains.

Through the phone, you hear him turn the engine off before he steps out of his convertible, walking towards the side of the passenger seat before leaning against the body of his car.

He looks up, scanning the second story and manages to spot you, a small smile manifests on his expression, “Do you see me?”

“Are you kidding me?” you reciprocate with a toothy smile, unable to contain your nervousness and your sheer excitement to be going on a date with Nanami, “That car sticks out like a sore thumb. Give me a second, I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Take your time,” he responds patiently.

“See you in a bit.”

You drop the call, walking back to your closet and spotting your clutch by the back of one of the shelves. Hastily, you grab it and stuff all your essentials in it before walking out of your apartment and down the steps, heading to where he is.

When he sees you, he straightens to his full height, slipping his phone in his coat pocket.

Just from afar, you could tell that his car was a luxury brand, but it doesn’t dawn upon you just how luxurious it is until you’re a few feet from him. Because behind him is a stunning all-black bespoke Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead Coupé. The Spirit of Ecstasy ornament mounted on its hood alone was enough to cover years worth of your rent.

You’re tongue-tied, unable to wrap your head around the grandeur in front of you. That is until he walks up to you with an equally dazed look.

Shifting your attention back to him, you feel your cheeks warm up, feeling shy with the way he’s gazing at you, “Do you like my dress?” you ask to pull him out of his thoughts, “I saved my best one for this.”

You twirl for him, and when you come to face him again, there’s a look of trouble on his features.

“What’s the matter?” you ask him.

Out of the blue, he reaches out and pulls you close to him, his lips brushing against your helix, “It’s inconsiderate of you to look this beautiful. How do you expect me to restrain myself?”

Your eyes widen, heart beating like crazy, but you manage to stop your visceral reaction of fluster, pulling away to smirk at him, “Come on. If you keep staring, we’ll be late.”

He purses his lips, sizing you up once more before he sighs in defeat, “Let’s go.”

You let him guide you into the convertible, and he starts the engine, pulling out of the driveway to head to the art gallery half an hour away from your place. The moment you arrive, he circles the car and opens the door for you, offering you his hand which you gladly take before he tosses the Phantom’s key to the valet attendant. The two of you make your way into the exhibition.

You wouldn’t consider yourself much of an art connoisseur. I mean, sure, you love looking at art, but the ability to analyze it critically was something you haven’t gotten the opportunity to do, not since your contemporary art class back in university. So, when you notice that around you are conversations about history, colour theory, and philosophy, your mind starts reeling.

It’s as if everyone in the gallery were people of prestige; you feel out of place, and it’s evident in how you’re clinging onto Nanami’s arm like a lost puppy.

“Everyone here seems like they’re a scholar,” you remark diffidently, keeping close to your companion.

“Don’t think about it too much,” he reassures you, stopping on his tracks to stare at the geometric piece protruding out of the corner of the room with a tilted head, “It’s art. Just let it speak to you.”

He’s right. It’s not like you’re required to submit an essay about any of the pieces anyway; you’re here to appreciate it. Through his words, you loosen up, letting go of him and scanning the artworks within the section of the gallery.

“Well, what do you think of this one?” you call out to him, your attention focused on a portrait of a vase beside the geometric sculpture.

He walks to where you are then blinks at the piece, “It’s, uh, interesting.”

“Just interesting? No interpretations, theories? What about…” you squint, trying to remember the name you overheard from a conversation between two guests earlier, “Fernando Sassyer?”

“Ferdinand de Saussure,” he corrects, his lips tugging upward to a small smile as he finds appreciation in your attempt, “He’s a linguist, pioneering semiotics.”

“Semiotics?”

He nods, eyes glimmering with sudden interest, “The study of signs.”

You cock your head to the side, “Can you explain it to me?”

He hums in contemplation, trying to figure out where he was even going to begin, “Well, let’s try to put it simply with an example. What do you see in front of you?”

“A vase.”

“How do you know that it’s a vase?”

You scrunch up your brows as you’re thrown off by the question, “Because I see it right in front of me?”

“How can you say it’s not a chair?”

“...Because I know what a chair looks like and it’s not that.”

“Exactly. Essentially, signs are anything that conveys meaning, or anything that can stand in to represent something else. They’re composed of what is called the signifier, and the signified. The ‘signified’ refers to the concept in itself, whereas the ‘signifier’ is the word society has assigned to carry the meaning of that concept.”

You narrow your eyes, still staring at the painting, trying to follow where he’s getting at, “…Huh, okay.”

“In this case, we know that the word “vase” represents this image–” he motions to the painting, “–because society tells us that this is what it's supposed to look like. Just as much as we associate the red light as ‘stop’, and the green light as ‘go’. Understanding how people interpret signs gives us insight into their culture and way of thinking."

You nod as you listen to him, charmed by his familiarity with the topic. However, understanding it wasn’t as easy as putting two and two together, it was more like high-school algebra.

He examines you, watching you stare into the painting as you’re slowly wrapping your mind around what he’s just said, “I’m sorry, I started rambling. You don’t have to think about it too much.”

“No, no. It’s interesting. I didn’t know you were into this,” you shift your expression to a smile, “Let me try to see if I understood what you just told me.”

You scan the gallery, searching for a piece you can dissect. From the corner of your eye, you spot a painting hung on the wall adjacent to where you’re standing and you’re immediately enthralled by it.

It’s abstract, just an amalgamation of different hues, but it gives you this feeling of warmth, nostalgia even. That feeling is enough to make you want to buy the painting, if only it weren’t for the $3400 price tag on it.

Soon enough, he finds his place beside you, gazing at the artwork in the same manner you were, and that’s when you realize why it manages to give you such a sense of familiarity.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse in admiration, ”It’s just like—”

“The sunset.”

Exactly. That’s what it was. Albeit abstract, the colours come together in a way that reminded you of the sunset watched with him the day in the cove. It’s been so long since then, but no matter how hard you tried to erase the memory, you could never bring yourself to forget the way the skies blanketed the horizon, how the golden hour illuminated Nanami's gleaming eyes.

And that’s when everything he tells you earlier starts to make more sense. For others, they may see this painting in front of you and pass it by without a second glance. They can say that this piece is nothing but an expression of colour, but for you and him, it means something else—a sacred memento that both of you hold dear in your heart.

He looks at you with a profundity that transcends words, and you begin to understand even more. In this reality riddled with a multitude of arbitrary and treacherous expressions, what remains steadfast is the idea, the feeling, some of which words are unable to encapsulate.

And thus, he imparts it through his gesture.

In silence, and in a moment reminiscent of the moment you shared with him more than a year ago, he interweaves his fingers around yours, holding your hand in his for everyone and anyone to see.

He’s not ashamed to be with you. He never has been, but you were just too consumed by your own flaws to see the signs for what they truly were. It was only a matter of time before the two of you had grown and found each other again.

You smile at him and give his hand a gentle squeeze, stifling the bittersweetness of recollecting the bad parts of your past with him in exchange for the good ones, in exchange for the present.

And you know in your heart that at this moment, all was forgiven.

* * *

When you leave the exhibition, it’s already well into the evening, so he decides to take you out to a fine dining restaurant adjacent to the art gallery where the two of you enjoy a full-course dinner.

By the time you’re having dessert, the two of you have practically caught up with each other’s lives. He tells you about how everything went down with the merger and the resort expansion while you tell him about all the campaigns you’re working on, only for you to find out that the new client your boss was talking to you about was his joint venture with Satoru Gojo.

You sit through what feels like half an hour of him complaining about his business partner, not in a sense that he was incompetent, but that he was just an annoying pain in the ass. In fact, it was originally Gojo who was supposed to fly in and attend your company event, but he ended up forgetting and scheduled a Caribbean cruise in the same week, making Nanami go in his stead.

You end up laughing, baffled by the course of events that led one thing to another—what were the odds?

“I guess we have Satoru to thank for giving us the chance to meet again,” you say, taking a bite from your apple pie afterwards.

He scoffs, leaning back on his seat as he watches you indulge in your desert, the realization settling in, “Huh. I guess you’re right.”

The corner of your eyes crinkle as you smile at him, ”So, how are you liking it here?”

“It’s amazing, just like all the stories you had told me back then.”

“How much longer are you staying?”

He trails his eyes on his wine glass, hesitating, “Uh, a week from now,” he pauses, then quickly adds, “Then I’ll be back after a few months.”

“Oh,” your heart sinks in the realization that, once again, your time with him is limited, causing your smile to falter slightly, “How many months?”

“Maybe four, maybe six. It really depends on how things are going in Japan, so I can’t be sure yet. But let’s not think about that first, hm?” he extends his arm across the table, turning his palm over, “Let’s enjoy the time we have together.”

You let his words simmer, accepting that he was right and there was nothing you could do but treasure the fact that he was even here with you. In resignation, you place your hand atop of his, squeezing it gently, “Do you want to stay over tonight?”

“I’d take any chance to spend time with you,” he responds warmly, caressing your knuckles.

Not too long afterwards, you finish your dessert and he quaffs his wine. The two of you head out of the restaurant and make your way back to the gallery to pick up his Phantom from the valet. Thankfully, his high alcohol tolerance takes you home safely, and you find yourselves by your doorstep. Your keys jangle as you unlock the door and he trails behind you as you enter the apartment.

Taking his hand, you lead him to sit on the couch in your living room, suddenly feeling anxious as it’s been too long since the last time you’ve been alone with him, save for that time in the elevator a couple of nights back.

“Did you enjoy our date?” he asks you, placing his hand on the side of your thigh.

“Of course I did,” you beam at him, scooting closer, perching your forearms on his shoulders, “Did you?”

He nods, a low hum of affirmation resonating from him. In comfortable silence, the two of you stare into each other’s eyes and the space in between you starts to diminish. Your lips shyly graze his, hesitating. It’s as if you were in disbelief, in desperate need to find confirmation that he was actually right in front of you, that he was back in your arms and in your life.

Unable to hold back any longer, he takes the initiative, being the one to close the gap. The kiss he gives you is so sweet, so ardent. You’ve yearned for this feeling for so long, and you can tell that he shares the same sentiment.

“I’d never thought I’d get the chance to kiss you like this again,” he tells you after pulling back.

The tone in his voice conveyed gratitude and affection. And, on top of that, a deeper meaning to his words. It had the cadence of someone saying ‘I’m home’ and the thought causes tears to well up in your eyes.

“I would have hated my last kiss with you to have been that night on the beach,” you grin at him, the small chuckle you release is shaky.

He apologetically looks into your eyes, “I know I said it before but I can’t begin to explain how sor—“

“It’s okay,” you hush him with your whispers, cupping his cheeks, “We’re okay. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

You smile warmly at him, leaning in to kiss him once more when a sudden and unignorable itch makes itself present on the tip of your nose. You groan, running the back of your hand across it and consequently causing you to take a whiff of yourself. Smelling as if you’ve just used the city’s smog as perfume, you grimace.

You pull back from him and get on your feet, embarrassed, “Sorry about that. Let me take a shower first. Look, I absolutely adore the convertible, but I’m not so much a fan of this city’s air pollution.”

He slips his coat off and sniffs it, making the same expression you made, “Oh, right. I suppose I’m used to the air back home, it’s a bit cleaner.”

“Yeah, the pollution here is crazy bad,” you pause, then grin at him, “Do you want to join me?”

“How can I say no to that?” he smugly smirks as he gets on his feet and follows you into the bathroom.

When you stop in front of the shower, you crane your head towards him to give him a sheepish smile. The tender look you’ve come to familiarize yourself with manifests on his face as he brushes your hair aside and gives your shoulder light kisses. His hands glide up your arms, until they make their way to your dress, unzipping it slowly.

“I’ve always loved the way you look in your dresses,” he says, breath tickling your skin.

“Don’t you love it more when they’re off me?”

“Mhm,” he hums in confirmation, sucking on the flesh of your neck.

Eventually, your dress slacks and falls gracefully down onto the floor. You step over it and turn to face him, undressing him just as he did to you. The entire time, he rakes his eyes across your body, worshipping the sight in front of him.

When you’re both stripped out of all your clothes, you turn the knob of the shower, letting the water trickle down on your hand as you wait for it to heat up. The moment it’s at the temperature you like, you hop in, dragging him inside with you.

You grin at him as the hot water drenches you both, watching in fondness as his wispy blonde strands start to fall over his forehead.

“I like this look on you, you know,” you reach for the bottle of shampoo, squeezing some onto your hands and standing on the tips of your toes to lather it on his hair.

“Undressed and wet?” he crouches slightly so you could reach him with ease.

“Well, that’s another one,” you laugh, cupping his cheeks with soapy hands.

He rolls his eyes jokingly, taking your loofah and body wash and begins to scrub the day’s dirt and grime off your body. You turn when he begins to shampoo your hair, skin prickling at the feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp.

As the two of you rinse off all the sud from your bodies, you move back to playfully press your ass against his crotch, immediately feeling the way he tenses up.

“Oops,” you giggle.

He exhales a frustrated breath, nails digging into the flesh of your hip bones, “You did that on purpose.”

“Did I?” you maintain your teasing tone, continuing to push back against him. His cock twitches at the sensation, growing harder and harder by the second, much to your satisfaction.

Suddenly, he spins you around. You yelp, about to slip when he catches you and pins you against the wall, his lips colliding with yours hungrily. In such proximity, his erection rubs up against you, making the both of you gasp open-mouthed into the kiss.

You pull away, winded by his intensity, before trailing wet kisses down his chest, abdomen, and hip bone, up to the point you’re down on your knees and looking up at him reverently with doe eyes.

He reaches down to cup your jaw with a hand, a thumb tracing over your lips. You part them, biting on the tip of his finger as you begin to stroke him off languidly. With a hiss, he dips his thumb deeper into your mouth and you willingly close it around his finger, sucking sloppily.

From the way his chest is falling and rising, you can tell that his breaths were beginning to strain. He watches you carefully, his jaw clenching.

Set on obtaining more vocal reactions from him, you roll your wrist, sliding your index up to the head and smearing precum from the tip down to the shaft, using it to speed up your motions.

“Fuck,” he groans breathlessly, no longer able to contain himself, “Open your mouth.”

You do as you’re told, releasing his thumb from your mouth, a string of saliva forming as he withdraws his hand.

“Wider,” he orders.

“You sure know how to boss people around,” you jest but yield to him nonetheless.

“It’s only what I do for a living,” he responds, tone laced with playfulness before he grips your roots and shoves your head down to take every inch of him, the tip of his cock ramming against the back of your throat as you attempt to stifle your gagging.

“Can you still take it, sweetheart?”

Instinctively, you form a fist and dig your nails into your palm, remembering that trick you read about how squeezing your thumb helps hold off gag reflex. Apparently, it’s a placebo, but you couldn’t care less because it definitely works for you. You can only nod in response, which prompts him to thrust deeper into your mouth slowly, your eyes watering.

After a couple of minutes, he allows you to move at your own pace. Your free hand grips at the meat of his bare thighs, using it to steady yourself as you relax your throat, taking him in further. You let your eyes flutter shut, the ungodly sound of your saliva gathering as you bob your head up and down the length of his cock riles you up even more.

Your efforts are rewarded by the sound of low moans escaping him as he fists at your hair, his muscles tightening. It’s been so long since you’ve heard him be at your mercy. You can’t help but bask in the sound of him losing control.

More, you wanted more.

You release him, licking a stripe along the underside of his cock before closing your lips back around the head, your hands raising to wrap around the base, twisting your wrists.

Any time now.

Then, just as predicted, your jaw finds relief when he removes himself from you, visibly falling apart as he jerks himself off. It’s such an erotic sight to see, and you’re loving every moment of it.

You stick your tongue out for him, in anticipation as he reaches his climax, releasing his cum into your willing mouth with a drawn-out groan.

Keeping your eyes on him, you swallow, feeling the warmth pass through your throat before bringing your tongue back out for him to see.

“Good girl, you take me so well, don’t you?” he cups your jaw and pulls you up back onto your feet, kissing you, dipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting his own cum. It’s absolutely sinful, and if this is what hell feels like, then you’d surrender yourself to the depths.

But it’s still not enough. How could it be when you haven’t seen each other in more than a year? He spins you around and cages you against the wall with an arm, his free hand raising your leg.

“Wait, maybe we should take this to the bed,” you pant, glancing back at him before he can do anything more, “My water bill’s going to be crazy this month.”

“I’ll pay for it,” he says through laboured breaths.

You release a strained laugh again, “Let’s not waste our resources, shall we?”

He stares at you, takes a moment to think about it, then sighs in agreement. You reach over to turn the shower off.

After the two of you are all cleaned up, you step outside and wrap yourself up in your bathrobe before fetching him a towel which he uses to dry himself up, securing it around his waist afterwards.

“I’ll just finish up my skincare, you can stay in my bedroom,” you tell him, leaning against your sink, opening up your bottle of toner.

He passes by, not before stopping behind you, placing his hands on your hips, and then gently nipping at your earlobe before he whispers, “Don’t take too long.”

Shivers course through your body upon feeling his breath caresses the side of your neck, and you’re unable to restrain the faint moan that escapes you.

He smirks, looking at you through the mirror before his hand glides up to coil around your throat, “I’ll go ahead to catch up on some emails.”

Dropping his hand, he walks out of the bathroom and sits on the edge of your bed to check his phone. You finish your skincare as fast as you can and once you’re done, you peek at him through your bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. He feels your eyes on him, making him look up and drop his phone by the nightstand.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” he says lightheartedly.

“Nothing. I’m just happy to have you back,” you respond cheesily, continuing to beam at him.

His own countenance softens, matching yours, before he motions you over, “Come here.”

You shuffle towards him, and when you’re near enough for him to reach, he takes your hand then holds on to your waist as he guides you to sit on his thigh.

“What’s that scent? It smells nice,” he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your jawline.

“My moisturizer,” you giggle, “Do you want some?”

“Mm, I don’t mind.”

“Okay, stay still,” you pat him on the chest before you get up and head to your bathroom in order to retrieve your moisturizer.

You switch off the lights until only a singular fixture dimly illuminates the room, walking back to sit down on his lap. You uncap the container, dipping your index in the cream before beginning to dab blobs of it onto his cheeks and forehead.

He looks up at you with endearment, allowing you to gently massage the moisturizer on his face with circular strokes in silence. Running the pads of your thumbs across his brow bone, you admire his beauty and the sharpness of his features.

“Your hands are soft,” he says, voice piercing through the dead air.

“Are they?” you emit a small chuckle, withdrawing your hands from him the moment you’re done blending everything in.

All of a sudden, he reaches up to take a hold of it, bringing it up to his lips to press a chaste kiss on your knuckles. He smiles, “...I’ve missed you.”

Upon hearing that, you feel your heart about to burst in elation, reciprocating the way he’s smiling at you, the corner of your eyes crinkling, “I missed you too.”

Your words reassure him and he pulls you closer to him as he shifts back on your bed, reclining against your headrest. You hitch up your bathrobe and crawl up on top of him, anchoring your knees on either side of his thighs as you straddle him.

He takes his sweet time to undress you, undoing the knot of your bathrobe’s belt before slipping the sleeves down, allowing it to rest by your waist.

You lean forward, pressing your breasts against his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him sweetly. Simultaneously, you roll your hips, grinding against him through the fabric of his towel.

He reaches down in between your thighs, unable to conceal his obvious amusement when he finds out you’re already soaked, your arousal dripping.

“So wet from sucking me off earlier, sweetheart?” he asks smugly, coating his fingers with your wetness before bringing it up to his lips, his eyes bleeding into yours as he shamelessly tastes you.

His actions cause you to swallow thickly, cheeks flushed red as you’re flustered beyond belief. On top of that, impatience is starting to get the better of you with the way he teased you with his words. You haven’t had sex since the last time you were with him. And if you were being honest, your hands just weren’t doing it for you anymore. Every inch of your body craved more of him, your desire gnawing at you from deep within your bones.

With a whine, you greedily unwrap the towel secured around his waist and toss it to the floor, positioning yourself on top of him. Neither of you prolong it any further. Slowly, you lower yourself, whimpering at the overwhelming stretch. You’ve forgotten how big he felt.

“Relax. Focus on me,” he senses your struggle, rubbing your lower back in an attempt to calm you down and loosen you up even more. He firmly places his hand on your hip, giving you a signalling look to match his breath.

You nod at him, and once you’ve given that signal, he pushes you down gently until you’ve taken him completely. You let out a soft cry, lurching forward to sink your teeth into the flesh where his neck met his shoulder.

“That’s my girl,” he coos, running his fingers through your hair and brushing it away from your face as he presses a kiss on the corner of your lips, “How does it feel?”

“Good,” you gasp, soothing where you had bit down with a kiss before placing your hands on his chest and propping yourself up. Once you get used to the feeling of him inside you, you begin to rock your hips back and forth, creating friction on your clit as it rubs against his pelvis.

With muffled moans, your hand flies up to latch onto the headboard as you continue your movements. He cups one of your breasts gently, teasing the nipple with his fingertips until it’s hard. Your body is angled on top of him in a way that allows him to easily lap his tongue across your already sensitive nipples. A louder mewl escapes you, your walls pulsating around him in even more desperate need.

You grind against him at a quicker pace, but he holds you down with his free hand, preventing you from going any faster. He groans, “Let’s be gentle tonight, darling. Is that alright?”

You whine, but find yourself nodding in resignation, leaning down to plant an open-mouth kiss onto his lips. His tongue immediately finds refuge in your mouth while his hands grope your ass cheeks, guiding your pace as you ride him.

Then, he finally begins to thrusts into you, matching your rhythm.

The sudden movement causes shivers to ravage your body, pleasure building up more and more.

“Fuck–Fuck me,” you whimper, tone laced with need.

After some time, he shifts on the mattress and you take it as an indicator to switch places with him, finding yourself under him this time. Spreading your legs wider, he takes his cock and rubs it against your clit, causing you to writhe your hips in search of more friction.

“Hurry up. I’m about to lose my mind,” you keen.

“So greedy,” he mocks, smirking as he watches you bite down your cries of desperation, “But you took care of me so well earlier. How can I say no to you?”

And so he satiates you, easing into your entrance, your walls pulsating around him when he’s fully sheathed in you. You anchor your legs around his hips, caging him in and letting out a string of profanities as he continues thrusting into you quicker. The louder your moans grow, the faster he fucks you, intoxicated by the sound of your voice.

That’s how it goes, not until he decides to slow down, his thrusts now unhurried, but they hit you so hard and deep, it sends electrifying shivers into the fibers of your being.

You don’t mind getting fucked senseless into oblivion, but there was something different with this type of gentleness. You feel every inch of him, you find pleasure in every second of it.

The lust you had for each other hadn’t gone, but it was accompanied by an even greater emotion—an affection that had always been present, but you had been blind to this entire time.

It feels as if the night belongs to you. He kisses you; your lips, jaw, neck, breasts, and abdomen. He bruises you with his love, indulges you, and cherishes every inch of your body like it’s the last time he’ll get the chance.

Your moans grow more frequent, up to the point you’re no longer able to contain them. Each thrust has you slowly unravelling.

“Just like that. Keep going,” you breathe, toes curling and sinking into the mattress, “Oh my god, I’m so close.”

“I am too, sweetheart,” he manages to say, voice strained, “Just a little bit more.”

You whimper before you release a drawn-out moan, “Kento—”

“Fuck, you sound so sweet when you say my name like that.”

Finally, as you’re on your last stretch, he brings his hand down to stroke your clit, the added stimulation has you clamping your walls down on him. He curses under his breath, his ministrations turning sloppy as your tight grip shatters the last bit of control he had. You feel something hot shoot inside you, sending you over the edge almost immediately. A choked gasp leaves you before you cry out, waves of pleasure hitting you all at once. You grip at his forearm, clawing at him as your back arches, body convulsing as you reach the peak of your orgasm.

He takes a moment to catch his breath as he tiredly rests on top of you, the sound of nothing but both of your laboured breathing filling the room. You reach up to him, caressing the back of his head.

“My legs feel like jelly,” you say, staring at the ceiling, your eyes still involuntary threatening to roll back as you’re still coming down from your high.

“Are you serious?” he asks with genuine curiosity and amusement. It’s only then that he pulls out, his warm cum leaking out of you, “But I was so gentle with you this time around.”

You laugh, rolling onto your stomach and stretching your limbs out with a strained groan, “Yeah, and I haven’t had sex in forever.”

“Mm,” he hums as he rests his head on your shoulder blade, his voice reverberating across your body, giving you goosebumps, “Maybe I can help you build your stamina.”

Flustered, you bite down on your grin, “Well, you have a week.”

He doesn’t respond, the reminder of his limited time with you probably hitting him like a wave. He sits up, beginning to massage the back of your thighs.

“Does this help?” he asks you, adeptly applying pressure on your muscles with his palms, a troubled look on his face.

“Oh my god. Yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering close momentarily. But when you open them back to look at him, his expression hasn’t changed. He’s lost in his thoughts, absentmindedly staring at his hands.

“Hey,” you call out to him.

Nothing.

“Kento.”

He blinks, pulled out of his trance, “Yes?”

“What’s on your mind?” you prop yourself up with your elbows, reaching over to caress him on the knee.

“Us,” he mutters, circling his thumbs on your lower back.

“Let’s talk about it then,” you smile at him, sitting up completely, turning on your bedside lamp, and shifting on the mattress so you’re sitting cross-legged in front of him, “What do you want to happen?”

“I want to keep seeing you. Even after I leave.”

“Are you suggesting we do long-distance?”

“For the meantime, at least. Until I can figure out how I can see you more often…” he clears his throat, his fingers dancing around yours, “But I’d understand if you don’t want to risk it.”

You take his hand in yours as reassurance, “No, I know you’re busy with a lot of things. I’m willing to wait. I want to keep seeing you too.”

He finds relief in that. A smile creeps up his features, gazing at you with nothing but pure affection. The look he's giving you now, the one that you once thought was so deceitful, what you once thought was a fantasy, couldn’t have been any more genuine. It makes you lean into him to press a doting kiss on his lips, making him snake his arms around you so securely as if you were to slip away if he wasn’t careful.

You pull back, “Do you think it’ll work out?”

“That’s up to both of us to decide,” the pad of his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek, “Don’t you think?”

“Well, I want it to work out,” you say with resolve, leaning into his touch.

In finance, the Black Swan is described as a random event which no one could have predicted, but brings drastic consequences to the world, just like the global financial crisis, the rise of the internet, and the invention of the personal computer. It’s easy to say that these historical events and scientific discoveries could have been easily predicted, but this belief is only a mere fallibility brought about by hindsight bias.

In this narrative, you were his Black Swan, just as much as he was yours. The two of you were the rarities, the unexpected change in each other’s lives that brought about catastrophic damage.

The night at the bar, you tripping from the chair you were dancing on, your harasser, the missed flight, and the storm—this was a chain of casualty you could have never foreseen, but nonetheless resulted in consequences so unbearably agonizing. The worst part of it all? This was only the beginning of the collapse.

Crying all night only aggravated your pounding headache. As the world spun around you, you tell yourself that you’d take a moment to shut your eyes before you retreat back to the suite to sleep the intoxication and the pain from the altercation away. But given your exhaustion, you ultimately end up passing out by the bench, exactly where Nanami had left you.

It was a faint sensation, and you don’t know how long you were out for since then, but you’re slightly stirred when you feel someone take the keycard from your hand before you’re lifted up into their arms. Then, unhurried footsteps begin to take you elsewhere, and the only thing you hear before you end up completely passing out once again is the steady beat of the heart, whoever it was it belonged to.

It’s early in the morning when you jerk awake, in panicked realization that you accidentally fell asleep with the keycard to Nanami’s million-dollar suite just loosely tucked between your fingers, out and about for anyone who had passed you by that night.

But the moment you’re fully conscious, your eyes rapidly scan the room you’re in, only to discover you’re exactly where you were supposed to be, which could only mean one thing—he was the one who picked you up and carried you all the way back.

With a heavy sigh, you recline against the headboard of his bed, steadying your breathing as you stare at the set of clocks on the wall opposite to you. As usual, the space beside you is empty, but a little shift of your gaze to the couch reveals none other than Nanami himself, fast asleep still in yesterday’s business get-up. His tie is completely undone, and his suit jacket hung over the couch’s backrest, leaving him only in his trousers and his disheveled button-up.

For the first time since you’ve been sharing this room with him, you’re the one who wakes up first. You swallow thickly, feeling your heartbeat pick up in nervousness of just being in the same room as him, despite him still being in a state of slumber.

You’re usually not one to have a good recollection of what happens when you get wasted, but for some reason, you remember everything that transpired the previous night. All the things he said, all the things you said–the yelling, crying, and begging–flash in your memories all too vividly like snapshots.

A slew of negative emotions so overwhelming causes your chest to tighten. You continue to stare at the clocks, realizing how despite each of them having different hour hands, the universal fact remains that time kept ticking, regardless of where it was in the world.

You’re running out of time with him. And as much as you felt horrible for how things went down last night, you also know deep in your heart that this couldn’t go on anymore, for both of your sakes.

For you, because you know you’ll be leaving soon and that there was no use in postponing the inevitability of whatever this was to crash and burn. And for him, because you know that you had already hurt him, and you’re afraid of being his liability even more.

Thus, you make a decision to cut ties with him, here and now, completely. You didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt to prove you wrong. You didn’t want to hope, because the more you prolonged this affair, the more it was going to hurt in the long-run. Removing the possibility for this relationship to mend is your best bet, so you decide that it was time for you to go.

Taking lithe steps around the room, you begin to pack up, slowly removing any trace of your presence through each article of clothing and each piece of item, until all of your things are in your luggage.

Once you’re all set, you make your way to where he is, silently observing him as the scent of alcohol and tobacco immediately wafts over you.

You stare at his features, at the prominent crease in the middle of his eyebrows, and only then are you able to notice just how exhausted he looked. How long had he stayed up for?

As quietly as you can as not to stir him awake, you move closer towards him and reach down to delicately graze your fingers over his cheekbones, tracing the grooves of his face, before combing your fingers through his unkempt hair which covered his forehead.

For some reason, doing so felt wrong; he’ll probably be appalled to know you laid a hand on him, but you just wanted this one thing for yourself—all you wanted was a final glimpse of the man who, in such a short time, managed to give you one of the greatest thrills of your life. Before you leave and banish him from your memory forever, you wanted to admire him one last time.

And once that is said and done, you withdraw your hand from his face with a heavy heart. The warmth of his flesh is replaced by the uninviting cool air brought about by the dawn temperature.

Your hand then finds its place on your suitcase handle, and you turn on your heel to begin heading out of the room.

But as you’re about to take your first step, he quickly grabs your wrist, stopping you from going any further.

You immediately snap your attention back to him, seeing him look back at you with tired, half-lidded eyes.

“Where are you going?” he says, voice low and hoarse, as he glances at your suitcase.

“Have you been awake this entire time?” you ask, flustered, before gently writhing your hand out of his grasp, “I’m leaving.”

“Why?” he slowly sits up, continuing to look up at you groggily.

“I think it’s better if I left. This can’t go on any longer. We both know it’s not going to end well if we try to keep this going.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“I can’t, but what I’m sure of is that I don’t want to stick around to find out how this will turn out.”

“Where do you plan to go?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out, just—just anywhere but here.”

It takes him a moment to process your words, and when he finally does, he utters, “...Stay.”

You’re unable to hide your irritation when you hear him say that.

“Stay?” you scoff, “Where the hell were you when I asked you to stay? You left me.”

“But I came back, didn’t I? Isn’t that why you’re here instead of out there on that bench?”

“It doesn’t matter. You abandoned me with your stupid fucking keycard. What would have happened if it got stolen?”

“Are you going to blame me if it did? I wasn’t the one who passed out in the middle of the walkway.”

“I was drunk, Kento. And you left me all alone when I needed you. How could you have done that? Have you ever even considered it? Or are you still busy thinking about yourself all the time?”

He rises from the couch, walking towards you and gripping your forearm.

“What are you trying to do, hm?” he seethes, visibly getting frustrated, “I don’t care if you drag my name through the mud, because I’ve had plenty of people do that long before I met you. Is this really where you want to end things?”

“There’s nothing to end,” you retort sharply, wincing at the tightness of his hold, “We weren’t anything to begin with.”

He pauses, staring at you, seemingly studying your expression. You try your best to conceal how agonizing it was for you to tell him all of these things.

“Fine, then go,” he grits his teeth, dropping your hand carelessly, “I can’t force you to stay if you can’t stand being in the same room as me any longer.”

You don’t make an attempt to deny it, not because you agreed to what he said, but because you know that it’ll be impossible for you to let go of him the moment you begin to retract your sentiments. So, you bite down on your tongue to prevent you from breaking your act.

He takes your silence as an affirmation to his words, slowly nodding in understanding, “So everything you said last night—did you mean it?”

No, of course not. But if there was one thing you’d never admit to having, it was your fatal flaw—your hamartia, as they say in Greek tragedies. And perhaps this was a tragedy already in the middle of unfolding.

The flaw? Pride. An excessive pride that prevented you from admitting that you were wrong, and that you’d do anything to start over again.

Just say you didn’t mean it. Say you’re sorry, that’s all you need to do.

But at this point, apologizing seemed even more difficult than a confession of your feelings towards him. And thus, you take the coward's path and choose to make him miserable with your words, despite knowing that it would make you miserable too. You figured that making him hate you was the best way to end things once and for all.

“...Yeah, I guess I did,” you mutter weakly, keeping your eyes locked on his.

He takes in a breath, trailing his eyes to his feet before a bitter scoff escapes him. He shakes his head, a hand coming up to rub his nape, “I guess this whole thing was a mistake after all.”

You feel as if someone just stepped on your already shattered heart.

But you manage to keep yourself at bay, keep up the bluff, “Perhaps it was.”

You make your way to the door, keeping your eyes on your hand reaching for the handle before you turn to him, “Please do me a favor and forget about everything that happened between us. I don’t think it’ll be difficult for you.”

“Yeah. It won’t,” he says firmly, glaring at you, “I don’t have the time to mull over things that aren’t meant to be.”

You flinch at his words, but he wasn’t done yet. Not by a longshot.

“You have no idea how happy you made me feel in the short time we had,” he continues, eyes piercing your soul as he continues to shoot daggers in your direction, “I thought I finally found someone who understood me, but I was wrong. Because among all the people who've made assumptions about my life, you’ve managed to envision a version of myself that I hate the most. And so maybe you’re right. Maybe my reputation’s the only thing that matters to me. Isn’t this what you wanted to hear? This is the idea you have of me, right?”

This is what you wanted. For the ties to be severed completely. For him to despise you. But it doesn’t take away from the utter devastation you felt.

You’re wondering how he’s capable of saying something so heartbreaking, as if you hadn’t done the same thing to him. But the worst part is, you can’t even tell if he means it or if it was just his attempt at closing himself off, at hurting you back.

Regardless, you can no longer bear a second of this act, and you can no longer bear the pain of his words. You’ve done what you needed, and now it’s time to leave.

“Goodbye, Kento. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone as remarkable as you,” you smile at him bittersweetly.

Despite all the hostility you’ve just thrown at each other, you manage to spare him one last genuine sentiment–the only one you truly meant this entire confrontation–before you pull his door open and step outside. No longer waiting for his response, you shut it behind you.

The moment you’re in the hallway, you exhale a shaky breath, eyes immediately welling. You begin to hastily make your way to the lobby, unable to prevent yourself from finally breaking down into tears.

You wipe away the tears on your cheeks with your sleeves before you reach the reception desk. You’re greeted by a completely different receptionist, and though you’ve done your best to look presentable, your bloodshot eyes tell a different story.

“Are you alright, ma’am? How can I help you today?” she looks at you with concern and sympathy.

“Hey, sorry. Just a rough morning,” you emit a sad chuckle, “Um, can I ask what happened to the other receptionist?”

“Oh, her? She doesn’t work here anymore.”

You scrunch up your brows, putting two and two together that this was probably Nanami’s doing, given how pissed he looked when you drunkenly mentioned her, “Seriously? Did she get fired?”

“Not at all,” she reassures you, seeing the worry on your features, “I meant to say that she doesn’t work in this lobby anymore, but she got transferred to the patio restaurant as a hostess.”

“Oh, okay,” you sigh, relieved to know that she didn’t lose her job because of your slip-up, “That’s good to know. Um, anyway, can you tell me how I can get to the nearest hotel from here?”

“Sure. There’s a shuttle that goes en route to the airport and passes by the hotels within the area. You can take that,” she smiles, then checks the clock behind her, “It’s supposed to be arriving by now actually.”

You glance at the entrance, and right on cue, the shuttle pulls up.

“Ah, there it is,” she chimes.

“Thank you so much,” you tell her with a smile.

“No worries. Stay safe.”

You give the hallway leading up to Nanami’s suite one final, lingering gaze, in hopes that maybe you’ll see him one last time, but what could you have expected after everything the both of you said to each other? For him to chase after you?

Wake up.

So, you make your way to the shuttle and tell the operator that you’ll be getting down at the hotel nearest to the airport. Luckily, when you get there, there are still rooms available, and you jokingly tell yourself as a sad attempt to humour yourself that maybe you should have just gone here in the first place. Maybe you could have prevented all of this from happening.

You stay in bed for the rest of the day, keeping your phone close to you in the event that you get a message from him, but you never do.

This whole affair ended as quickly as it began. It was time to accept it—the fantasy was over. It had been ever since you asked him that question in the hot tub the other night.

You had a premonition that this was going to happen right from the beginning. But how could everything have turned out so horribly as it had?

It was as if the two of you had been doused in gasoline, and it was only a matter of time before the spark went up in flames.

In the end, neither of you relented. It seems as if pride was a flaw you both shared.

The day turns into night, and the night turns into morning, and with words unspoken, with feelings buried rather than professed, you make your way to the airport and board your flight.

As the plane makes its way down the runway, you send him one final text:

I’m sorry for everything. I lied, I don’t want you to forget about me.

But before it gets delivered, you put your phone on airplane mode and immediately delete the message.

* * *

More than a year has passed since then.

The merger he was tirelessly working on pushed through successfully, and you know because you’ve kept up to date with his life through news articles. He’ll probably hate you for doing so, but you assume that he already does anyway, so it’s not like it mattered anymore.

As much as you’d like to deny it, in hindsight, your feelings for him only began to grow clearer after everything fell apart.

There were so many things you didn’t have the courage to tell him back then, and even more things you want to say now if only you were given the chance, but out of anger, you’d impulsively destroyed the travel SIM card you were using when you went on vacation, and thus, neither of you had contact with each other. Neither of you had reached out through other means.

How can someone you’ve spent less than a week with cause such a significant rift in your life? For months, you struggled with the regret of what you had done, realizing only far, far too late that it was so incredibly stupid of you to have thought that leaving with the false pretense of detesting him was the only option at protecting your heart.

But what’s done is done, and regretting the past wasn’t going to bring you anything except for more pain.

So eventually, you stopped keeping tabs on his life, stopped reading the articles, and focused on your own life and career.

You’d like to believe that you’ve grown since then and that you’ve moved on, that you’ve returned to the normal day-to-day routine you were living before you went on that unexpectedly prolonged trip.

“Overtime again today?” your boss asks you as she reaches your desk, searching for her car keys in her handbag.

You look up from the presentation you’re making to glance at her momentarily, “Yeah, actually. I’m just trying to finish the campaign pitch before I clock out.”

“Oh, it’s good you’re almost done with that,” she takes a quick peek at it, “We might have some more clients coming in, so be prepared to take on additional work.”

“Not a problem,” you respond with a forced smile. As much as you enjoyed the work you did, you weren’t too keen on breaking your back for it.

“Thanks,” she says, finally finding her keys and jangling them, “Well, don’t stay too late. I’ll see you tonight.”

Hearing that causes you to stop typing. In remembrance of the company event happening later in the evening, your eyes widen. Your boss picks up on your expression, causing her to lightheartedly tut.

“Don’t tell me you forgot all about it?”

“I’m sorry, I just have my hands full at the moment. It slipped my mind,” you respond apologetically, “But I’ll be there.”

“You have to. It’s our year-ender, plus apparently there’s going to be an announcement from the president. I don’t really know all the details myself because the higher-ups are tight-lipped, but it seems important.”

“A surprise announcement?” you raise a brow in interest, “That hasn’t been done in quite some time.”

“Yeah, so don’t be late, alright? And remember, black tie. No sneakers.”

“Hey, that was one time. And I was an intern then. You’re never gonna live that down, are you?”

Your boss chuckles, “I’m messing with you. Now go finish your work so you can go home and get ready for tonight.”

“You got it. See you later.”

She gives you one final smile before she walks away and heads out of the office.

You spend another hour finishing your deliverables for work, and it’s thirty minutes past six in the evening when you clock out and head back home in order to dress up for the event. Normally, you’d find casual enjoyment in going to these types of gatherings. It was a chance for you to get to know your coworkers even more, and not to mention the open bar that was always there, so it was uncharacteristic of you to have wanted to skip this one.

Truth be told, you were exhausted given all the work you had to do today, but given its seeming importance coupled with the fact that you told your boss you’d be there, you unenthusiastically take a quick shower before you go through your closet in search of something to wear.

You end up settling on a black backless halter gown with a slit that went all the way up to your thigh. And for the touch of timeless elegance, you adorn yourself with your Tahitian pearl earrings.

After styling your hair, applying light makeup and finishing up your look, you book a ride from your place to the hotel where the event was happening.

You take one of the elevators, and when you reach the top floor, to your right is the double-door entrance to the function room where you could already hear the chatter as guests entered and exited the venue.

Upon entering, you immediately spot your boss sitting on one of the round tables towards the back.

“Hey,” you take your seat beside her, “I just got here. What did I miss?”

“Nothing much. The program just started,” she keeps her attention on the stage where the hosts are giving their opening speeches.

You turn to where she’s looking, seeing the president of your company take center stage, a glass of champagne in his hand.

“Welcome, everyone. I’d like to thank everyone for working hard and helping this company continue to grow and prosper. The past year has been a fruitful one, and it’s all thanks to each and everyone here in this room.”

A short applause.

“We were able to meet and even surpass all the KPI’s we’ve laid out this year, and given that, we plan to be even more ambitious the following year by strengthening our partnerships…”

You start to tune out, absentmindedly staring at the utensils in front of you as the president continues to congratulate the employees for the year’s accomplishments, going through each milestone one by one before going into the nitty-gritty of the company’s performance report. Hearing all the statistics begins to wear you out, especially after such a long day at work, and your eyes begin to feel heavy, the president’s words becoming gibberish.

But your boss taps your arm, noticing your disposition, and you’re brought back to your senses.

“…And now, to announce our new partnership, everyone, please give a round of applause to our esteemed guest who flew all the way from Japan to be with us tonight, Kento Nanami.”

You snap your attention to look back at the stage, the weariness gnawing at your bones completely eradicated.

Your heart begins to pound so rapidly and your breaths turn so shallow that you feel like you’re about to pass out.

He makes his way up the stage, shaking the hand of your company’s president before he takes the microphone, scanning the room.

There was no mistaking it, you’d know that face anywhere—it was him.

It is as if time passes by slowly, but your eyes meet for a split second, then he does a double-take, eyes widening and lips slightly parting as he’s taken aback by your sight.

With a sigh and a less than ideal mood, you languidly roll off bed and head to the bathroom to do your morning routine.

Deciding that you were better off on your own for today, you finish getting ready and exit the suite, heading towards the lobby in order to figure out what you want to do with your free time. You take a seat by one of the lobby couches, silently browsing through the amenities and activities section of the resort's website on your phone.

Snorkelling seemed fun, but it was a bit too much for you, so maybe you’ll go biking or bird feeding, or better yet, book a spa appointment—that’s it, that’s what you needed in order to take your mind off whatever it was that happened the night before.

So, with that, you make your way over to the reception desk in order to inquire more about the spa packages being offered.

“Hey, good morning,” you chime, palms resting on the desk as you greet the receptionist, the same one who’s been accommodating you ever since the day of the storm.

“Good morning,” she greets you with a smile, eyes glinting in interest as if she’s found something to take her away from the mundanity of work, “How may I help you today?”

You hum, checking the catalogue of pamphlets by the desk but you’re unable to spot the one you need, “Can I know more about the spa packages?”

She follows your gaze, and when she notices that the pamphlets have run out, she ducks under the desk, and you hear a cabinet open before some rustling. After some time, the receptionist emerges from behind the counter as she stands to her full height, hands occupied by a stack of paper.

“Seems like everyone here needs to relieve some stress,” she jests, handing you a copy of the pamphlet before she starts to arrange the rest on the brochure display stand.

“Tell me about it,” you respond, unaware of how you involuntarily rolled your eyes when you did. The receptionist, however, notices it immediately.

You’re scanning the contents of the pamphlet in silence when curiosity finally gets the better of her.

“Hey,” she whispers loudly, propping her elbows on the lobby desk and leaning forward closer to you, “So, uh… Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?” you look up, seeing her staring at you with wide and inquisitive eyes, ”Oh, sure…”

You swallow thickly, already expecting what she’d ask. And, you’re right with your assumption.

“Are you and the big boss together?”

You wonder if you should even pretend you're taken aback by the query, but she'd already witnessed you interact with Nanami, and you realize that it wasn't worth the effort, “No, we’re not.”

She keeps her voice soft, “So what are you guys then?”

“We’re…” you pause, taking some time to contemplate whether or not you’re open to confiding in her, but you ultimately decide against it, “Uh, we’re nothing.”

She nods slowly, shrugging her mouth awkwardly. But she quickly manages to contort her expression back to interest.

“Hook up, then?” she wriggles her brows.

You furrow your brows, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation so you hesitate to respond. She takes your hesitation as confirmation to her question.

“Well, that’s okay. He doesn’t seem like the type to settle anyway,” she says, her cadence nonchalant as she tries to reassure you, but it doesn’t work one bit, “What’s he like? Are what the tabloids say true?”

In response, you quirk a brow up, interest piquing as to what she had just said, “What do you mean?”

“Does he really have a—“

“No,” you wave a hand, stopping her from saying any more, “Not that. The other one, the one about settling. What makes you say that?”

“I mean,” she scoffs, scanning the general vicinity to make sure her coworkers are not within earshot before she continues speaking, “Have you seen him? He’s rich, powerful, and attractive as hell. Those types of people are never satisfied."

“That’s just what everyone says,” you retort in his defense, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Is that what he convinced you to believe?” she says jokingly, then her expression shifts to disbelief when you don’t respond to her banter, “Seriously? Do you have any idea how many celebrities have a crush on him?"

"What are you getting at?" you narrow your eyes at her, feeling your chest tighten after hearing the latter part of her statement.

"My point is: he can get anything he wants. Do you really think a man like him would ever be happy with settling down?"

The way she just frivolously throws out her words, especially about the boss of all her bosses, baffles you. It was like she knew exactly the right buttons to press. All of the thoughts and doubts your mind has been relentlessly bombarding you with, she’d just verbalized.

It was difficult not to consider what she had said. In terms of status, you and Nanami were in completely different leagues; he was this larger than life figure, a young conglomerate CEO who’s only at the beginning of creating his legacy. And despite his rejection of the labels, they will always be a part of his identity, a driving factor to how he presented himself and made decisions.

And here you were, some random girl who was drunk out of her mind, who he happened to stumble upon at some random bar—maybe all you were to him was a distraction, a semblance of normalcy in the rush of his grand life.

You purse your lips, twiddling with the edges of the pamphlet, a troubled expression washing over your features. How else were you going to respond to her? You had no right to tell her that you knew him better than her, because quite frankly, you couldn’t even be certain that that was the truth.

So, you take a deep breath and force a smile, trying your damn hardest to ignore the aching feeling in your chest, “Well…Whatever’s going on with his life doesn’t concern me. I’ll be gone in a couple of days anyway so you don’t have to worry about me, but that's beside the point," you gesture to the pamphlet, "Anyway, thanks for the help. I hope you have a great day.”

You say with a tone of finality, and she’s able to sense that you wanted this to be the end of the conversation.

“Alright, well, good luck. Just don't say I didn't warn you,” she reciprocates the smile with a hint of pity, and it makes you want to smack the look right out of her face. But you manage to keep your emotions at bay, graciously turning on your heel and walking away to schedule your much needed (even more so now) spa appointment.

* * *

You manage to book a slot for the spa in the afternoon. After a relaxing facial, you’re now laid down on your stomach with your cheek pressed against the massage table, revelling in how the masseuse expertly works her magic.

“Have you been stressed lately?” she says softly, her voice as calming as the mellow nature instrumental playing through the speakers.

“You can tell?” you mutter, already beginning to get drowsy.

“You’re a bit tense here,” she firmly applies pressure on your shoulder blade, “Does this hurt?”

You let out a little groan in response, “A little.”

With that, she continues massaging the knots out of your back muscles and loosening all the tightness in your body. And when she finally relieves the tension, you allow yourself to relax before you end up falling asleep.

After about half an hour, you’re roused by the feeling of the masseuse withdrawing her hands from your body, which makes you inwardly whine.

"Okay, we're done," she chimes.

You pry your eyes open, feeling incredibly refreshed. You sit up, holding the towel to your chest as she turns around to give you privacy to put your top back on. As you’re doing so, you’re able to see from the gap in the curtains a number of resort workers hauling tables and chairs down to the direction of the beach.

“What’s going on there?” you ask, tilting your head.

The masseuse turns to the direction you’re looking at, “Oh, that? They’re preparing for tonight’s event.”

“There’s an event?”

She nods, folding up the towels and cleaning up her workspace, “There’ll be a party and an open bar at the beach."

You perk up upon hearing those words, eyes glimmering, "What's the occasion?"

"They do things like these once in a while to keep the guests entertained. It's fun, I suggest you go to the one tonight."

Your lips curl upward as you finish fixing your hair; she didn’t even need to say it, because the idea was already intercepted into your mind the moment you heard the words “open bar”.

Screw it, you think. It’s not like you have a flight tomorrow you’re going to accidentally miss this time around—you’re here to unwind anyway, right?

* * *

If you had a hundred dollars for every time you promised yourself you’d never drink again, you’d probably have enough money for one night’s stay in Nanami’s suite.

But here you were again, on your third shot of vodka for the hour, cursing yourself for having alcohol as your coping mechanism.

As you slam the shot glass back down onto the bar counter, you release a sigh before pointing your gaze toward the sky above you. The clouds have cleared, paving the way for the stars to radiantly illuminate the night, reflecting in your eyes as if the entire universe was trapped in you.

The beauty of the night reminded you of the sunset yesterday and how peaceful you felt while watching it with Nanami by your side.

Without sparing another thought, you pull up your phone, hovering your thumbs over the keypad as you contemplate if you should proceed with what you’re about to do. But just like every time you’ve gotten drunk, you end up going against your sober self’s wishes.

So, you shoot Nanami a quick text inviting him over to the party, the presence of misspelt words in your message being a clear indication of how much you’ve had to drink already. It wasn’t like you were expecting him to come anyway; he was probably busy with work. That or he was ignoring you for what happened last night. Either way, you’re starting to care less the longer the night goes on.

A couple of tourists notice you standing alone by the bar as you stare at your phone, waiting for a response. After exchanging a few words amongst themselves, they drunkenly stumble over to you.

“Hey, girl, why do you look so down?” the brunette asks, dancing to the music as she holds her drink above her head.

"Do I?" you chuckle, taking your eyes off of your phone, "Sorry, I'm just trying to get some rest."

"Are you alone?” the blonde one asks, gesturing to the bartender for another bottle of beer.

“For now,” you say with a hint of hope, but even you weren’t convinced with your tone.

“Well, why don’t you join us in the meantime?” she responds once the beer gets handed to her.

You beam at them, finding immediate comfort in their geniality so you decide to tag along with them as they lead you back into the makeshift dance floor positioned on top of the beach shore. The girls introduce themselves to you and you do the same. It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re around the same age as them, and that you all shared the goal of getting absolutely wasted for the night.

The atmosphere is reminiscent of your supposedly last night in that shack a few kilometers away. You continue to dance with the girls you've met, laughing and talking to them so casually as if you’ve known them for years.

That is, until you see none other than the chief executive officer himself by the open bar, eyeing you as he–as usual–has a drink in hand.

Upon spotting him, your eyes widen, the pounding in your heart suddenly pulsing through your ears. And, as if your body just began moving on its own, you tell the girls that you'll be back before you sift your way through the crowd, pushing past people and stumbling as you head towards his direction. By this point, you're too intoxicated to feel any sense of pride. You couldn’t care less about the awkward atmosphere you’ve left off with the last time you two were together.

“Are you drunk already?” Nanami asks once you’re in front of him, steadying you.

“Barely,” you giggle, propping your arm on the empty stool beside him.

He doesn’t believe you, and it’s obvious with how his brows are scrunched up in concern.

You tug on his sleeve, grinning, “Dance with me!”

He shakes his head, “No. I don’t dance.”

“Come on,” you whine with a pout.

He carefully scans the area while taking a sip from the glass of golden-hued liquid before turning back to you, “…I’d rather not.”

You huff, letting go of him in defeat. Convincing him seemed like an effort that would be impossible to accomplish, given how he reacted to your drunken antics the first time you met him at that shack, “Fine. You’re no fun.”

With that, you turn on your heel, ignoring the heavy feeling in your chest by distracting yourself with the tourists you met a couple of hours ago.

“Is that your boyfriend?” the brown-haired girl asks, side-eyeing Nanami from a distance.

“Him?” you scoff with an eye roll, “We’re just…friends.”

She raises her brows, “Oh, are you single then?”

You pause, taking a moment to look in Nanami's direction; he hasn’t taken his attention away from you so you end up making eye contact. You narrow your eyes at him before turning back to your new acquaintance with a smile.

“Yes, I am."

She grins, grabbing a hold of your wrist before beginning to drag you to the other side of the area, "Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“I’ll introduce you to my friend. I think you’ll like him. You don’t mind right?”

“…Not at all.”

"Perfect."

As she takes you to where there were tables and chairs set up, you glance behind you, seeing Nanami list his head to the side, following you with his eyes as he tries to get a hint of where you were being led to. That is, until you eventually lose sight of him the more you make your way through the crowd of people.

When you turn back, you see the blonde girl from earlier sitting with a group of about four other people. You're guessing by the fact that they all looked to be around the same age that they knew each other and went on this trip altogether.

"Hey, girl!" the blonde one greets the moment she lays her eyes on you, consequently causing everyone in the group to look at you. They take turns introducing themselves to you before the brunette pulls you close to a tall dark-haired male sitting by the latter end of the table.

You shake his hand as you exchange names, watching him size you up.

He smirks, "Enjoying the night?”

You match his expression, “It could be better.”

“Maybe I could help with that,” he pulls out the empty chair beside him.

Chuckling at that, you take the seat as he asks you where you’re from. After a few minutes of conversing with him, exchanging banter, and drunken flirting, he gets up on his feet, gesturing to the dance floor with a nod of the head while extending a hand out for you, “Wanna dance?”

All you wanted for the night was someone to dance with, and you had hoped that someone would have been Nanami. But given that “fun” was probably a word scratched out of his dictionary, you stare at the man in front of you who was offering his hand with a goofy yet endearing smile plastered on his features.

If Nanami wasn’t going to indulge in your wishes, then he can’t prevent you from seeking it elsewhere.

And so you think—why the hell not?

“I’d love to,” you take his hand, following him as he leads you to the middle of the venue.

And just like that, you’re back on the dance floor, this random stranger you’ve just met holding you close to his body as the two of you swayed and moved to the sound of the music, sharing a laugh as the both of you realize you’re too intoxicated to even dance properly.

Some time passes before you grow the courage to fling your arms around his neck, and his hands immediately find their way to slide down from your waist to your hips. He’s about to bring them even lower when all of a sudden, you feel someone yank you on the wrist, prompting you to spin around. Your eyes are met with the sight of an irked expression from a familiar blonde.

In one quick motion, he pulls you aside, dragging you away from the man you were just with. The pads of your fingers brush against your acquaintance as you’re completely pried away from him, shooting him a look of apology which he responds with a stunned expression.

“What the hell do you want?” you turn to Nanami once the other male is out of sight.

“Who is he?” he glowers at you.

“Some friend,” you say nonchalantly with a shrug, “Why do you ask?”

“Friend? Since when have you known him?”

“Since about a few minutes ago.”

“So he’s a stranger.”

“Like we didn’t start off as strangers,” you scrunch up your brows, “Can’t I have a good time with him?”

He clenches his jaw as he stares you down.

“Why do you look so pissed?” you smirk, “Are you jealous?”

“I’m not,” he denies, grumbling, “I’m just watching out for you. Do you remember what happened last time?”

You shrug off his hold on you, “Yeah, and I’m not some damsel you have to keep taking care of. Leave me alone.”

You’re about to walk away when he takes your hand, “Wait—”

“What?”

“I’ll dance with you,” he says softly, as if with reluctance.

“Oh, now you want to?”

“I said ‘no’ earlier because I don’t know how to," he trails his eyes to his feet, but then looks back up at you, "But I’ll try if that makes you happy.”

You stare at him, taken aback by the sudden change of heart. The irate expression he wore previously has now softened, and for the first time ever, you see him in a different light.

He was nervous. Of what? Being judged for dancing? Regardless, it seems as if the tension that’s been silently building up between the two of you disappears; whether or not it was only for this fleeting moment no longer mattered to you. All you were sure of was that you were going to make the most out of the moment. Because this was probably going to be the first and last time you’ll ever get the chance to do this with him.

You smile widely at him as you lace your fingers around his, “I’ll show you, come on.”

You lead him back to the dance floor, the group of people you previously met were no longer around as they probably had returned to their rooms to continue the night there.

Nanami’s hand finds its place on the small of your back, the other on your waist. You keep yours on his shoulders as you guide him whilst simultaneously using his body to help keep you steady as the world begins to spin around you.

His lips twitch to a small smile once he manages to get better footing, finally matching your rhythm.

“See? It’s not that difficult once you get the hang of it,” you grin at him, face flushed.

He looks rather embarrassed, but there’s a hint of satisfaction shining through his features, “Are you telling me that just to make me feel better?”

You laugh, “No, I mean it. Loosen up a bit more and you’ll be fine.”

The expression he had is kept as the two of you continue to move to the music, and though his hands are on you, he still tries to keep a comfortable distance. You find it rather odd, but ultimately, you end up dismissing it.

Being with him felt different in ways you couldn’t even begin to describe; there was this overwhelming feeling of comfort inundating your entire body that you hadn’t sensed as you shared a laugh and danced with the acquaintance you made earlier. In your drunken state, the feeling of warmth intensifies, and you feel completely bewitched by the man in front of you.

Then, just when you think everything was going perfectly, you push your luck and draw closer to him, standing on the tip of your toes and throwing your arms around his neck before you come up to kiss him, against any judgement. In response, he withdraws from you as if he’d just been scorched by fire.

“Not here,” he tells you in a hushed tone, eyeing the bartenders and other servers who are now curiously observing the two of you.

So that’s why he kept the distance.

Following his gaze, you feel your lips tremble and your breathing begin to shallow, distraught at the way he’d reacted to you.

You should have known. The signs have been clear all this time, but you were stupid enough to turn a blind eye and believe that there was a possibility that you could have had something more with him, that perhaps last night’s interaction was only a momentary rift as you both tried to figure out what exactly it was that was going on between the two of you.

But then you think back at all the times he’d shown you an ounce of affection, and each time, it’s always been in the privacy of closed doors, in places where no one could have seen what you were doing with him, and that’s when you realize that you’ve been mistaken this entire time.

Noticing the way your face contorts to disappointment and hurt, his own expression softens, as if in recognition of what he’d just done.

And there it was again—that goddamn look. That deceitful tenderness in his eyes that made you fall into this trap in the first place.

“No,” you shake your head, taking a step back, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he in turn takes a step forward and tries to take your hand, but you’re quick to pull away.

“Like you care about me.”

He frowns, “I do.”

“No, you don’t,” your voice breaks, tears beginning to well in your eyes, “You care about fucking me.”

“Keep your voice down. People are starting to look at you.”

“Why the fuck does it matter? They can look at me all they want!”

Your outburst causes him to warily scan the area. He purses his lips, turning to give you a look of warning.

“Oh,” you scoff, “I get it now. You’re embarrassed to be seen with me, aren’t you?”

“Stop it,” he lurches forward, successfully grabbing onto your wrist this time. You try to writhe out of his grasp but he wraps an arm around your shoulder, forcibly preventing you from flailing your hands everywhere, “Stop this. You’re not thinking straight.”

Your intoxication prevents you from realizing that he’s slowly dragging you away from the beachfront bar and onto the isolated path going back to his room.

“Let go of me!” you grit your teeth, using every ounce of your strength to wrestle yourself away from him but he’s much stronger than you are.

So, as a last-ditch effort, you lift your feet upwards, suddenly placing all your weight on him, almost causing him to trip. And he gets so disgruntled by this that he finally releases you.

“Why are you acting like this?” he seethes, loosening his tie that’s already starting to come undone due to the previous struggle.

“Because I don’t want to be some random girl you’re screwing anymore!” you snap, the tears finally rolling down your cheeks as you shove him backwards, “It was fun the first time around, but I can no longer deal with being a dispensable plaything you’ll eventually forget the moment I’m gone!”

He catches your hands the second time around you try to shove him, glowering at you, “Is that what you think this is?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not,” you say through gritted teeth.

“It’s not,” he says firmly, doing exactly what you asked him to do and keeping his eyes locked on yours, “Where the hell did you even get this idea?”

“The receptionist said—”

“The receptionist?!” he fumes, unconsciously tightening his grip on your wrists which causes you to wince, “You trust what she told you over the time you’ve spent with me? I thought that out of all the people who’d understand, it would be you.”

“That’s the problem, Kento—how do you expect me to understand you when I barely fucking know you!” you swat his hold on you away, “And how can I convince myself she’s not telling the truth when you’re ashamed to even be seen in public with me!”

“That’s—” he sighs in exasperation, the usually calm and collected man now struggling to find the right thing to say as he runs his fingers through his hair, “That’s not true. This is ridiculous. How many more assumptions are you going to make about me?”

Your lips continue to quiver, finding it difficult to see him through your glassy eyes, “Fine, then tell me yourself—why? Why the hell did you pull away from me like that?”

“Because we’re not together,” he responds in frustration.

Hearing those words infuriate you, “Exactly, we’re not together. So you have no fucking right preventing me from having fun with other people aside from you!”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re safe.”

“By keeping me like a dog on a leash and minding me only when it’s convenient for you?!”

“Stop it, I already told you that’s not true,” he exhales a deep breath before hauling you to the nearest seat which happens to be a bench by the side of the pathway, “Listen to me—people talk and word gets around. I don’t want you being any part of whatever controversy the media shits out these days.”

“What does that have to do with anything? So what—you’re protecting me from a scandal?” you scoff, “Well, then thank you for showing your hook up some fucking chivalry.”

“I’m serious,” he gets on his knee, holding your thighs as he looks up at you, “The things they say are ruthless, and they stick with you wherever you’ll go.”

“And I’m serious when I tell you—I don’t give a shit,” you’re slurring out your words, “Don’t act like this is about me when it’s always been about you and that stupid fucking reputation you’re so desperately trying to protect!”

Shut up. Shut up.

His face contorts to offense upon your insinuation. You’ve definitely struck a chord, and you know because you’ve never seen that type of expression on his face before. It was different, and it terrifies you to know that you were the reason for it.

He tightens his jaw, brows furrowed, before he releases a scoff, “I was right when I said you wouldn’t understand it.”

Normally, you would’ve let that slide. You wouldn’t have even cared, but he says it with such disdain that you feel humiliated, like you couldn’t even amount to a fragment of what he is.

You were never supposed to have gotten so wasted that night. You were never supposed to have missed that first flight. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be in this position, bawling your eyes out, screaming at the man who was only supposed to be your fling. But now, you’ve fallen into the fantasy that you were starting to believe in. So, without thinking, you let your mouth run.

“I wish I never ran into you that night.”

He staggers because of your words, “You don’t mean that.”

“I wish—” you repeat, slumping forward, staring dead straight into his eyes, “I never met you.”

It felt wrong to say that. You feel like a coward because you immediately want to take it back. Because you know wholeheartedly that you were lying and that this was nothing but an attempt to hurt him the way he had you. And, it works.

It was inconspicuous, but it seems as if something in him shatters.

“I see,” he slowly nods in understanding, in resignation, “…So that’s how it is.”

He slowly fishes his keycard from his pocket, placing it on the bench beside you.

“Get some sleep,” he says weakly, suddenly distant, “Let’s talk tomorrow when you’re not drunk.”

Then, he withdraws his hand from your thighs, standing on his feet.

“Where are you going?” you eye his keycard before looking up at him, eyes still wet with tears.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“I–Is that it? You’re leaving me?”

“I think it’s clear you don’t want me around.”

How could he have given up so easily? Were you not good enough for him to fight for?

No, it wasn’t that.

You’ve been so disillusioned that you actually believed he’d stay after all you’ve said to him. But he’s an adult who had limits, and you pushed him too far. It was time for him to walk away, lest he breaks even more.

“Wait—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that,” you reach out to him apologetically, desperately tugging on his sleeve but he shrugs off your hold on him. Your regret intensifies tenfold, “No, don’t go. Please, Kento. Don’t leave me here all alone.”

“You know where my room is,” he glances back at you, and though your vision has been blurred by your tears, you’re able to get a good glimpse of the resentment in his expression, “And here I was thinking you were the one good thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

His words break your heart to a million pieces, and that’s when you realize just how much you’ve hurt him, just how much you’ve fucked this whole thing up.

And when all that is said and done, your desperate plea falls on deaf ears and you watch him walk away, abandoning you in the darkness of the night.

Clenching your chest, you begin choking out uncontrollable sobs before you bury your face in your hands.

xxii.

"I feel like I’m slowly continuing to heal. I know I’ll never heal completely; there will always be a part of me that will fantasize about the memories we’ve made together and all the what-ifs I can only now imagine, but maybe there will come a day where I can think of you and smile. Where I can cherish the time we spent in each other’s presence with gratitude instead of regretting the words I never got to tell you.

It’ll take some more time, months, a year, maybe even years, but for now, I’ll let myself cry when I miss you. I’ll allow the bad days to come, and when they inevitably do, I’ll try my best to face them.

I’ve learned to forgive myself. No, actually, I’ve learned to understand that this was never my fault, nor was it yours—that this is simply the reality that some of us have to endure for living in such a cruel world.

I will always love you, Kento. Whatever may happen from here on out, just know that my capacity to love you will never diminish.

Maybe in another lifetime, where the world isn’t riddled with curses, we can find each other and fall in love again. And maybe then, you’d be the one I’d get to grow old with."

* * *

xxiii.

Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. The recipient’s mobile phone number is not available. The mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this time.

* * *

xvii.

“It’s October 31 again. It’s been a year since that day.

At this hour last year, I would have already handed you your coat and watched you walk out the door. I would have told you to stay safe, and would have said my final goodbye to you.

All these memories just keep rushing back in repeatedly, almost tauntingly. I haven’t cried like this in quite some time, and I used to think it was because I was feeling better, but the truth is, I’ve been keeping myself distracted from my emotions because I’m terrified— I’m terrified because I don’t know what to do with my grief, and I’m afraid I’ll make the wrong choice.

I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for not telling you I loved you that day. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t turn back time and fix everything, but I’d give anything to see you again."

* * *

xviii.

"Remember that neighbour I told you about? Well, we’ve been seeing each other more now. As… As friends. Well, at least that’s how I see it.

He’d knock on my door with a box of cupcakes he’d bake now and then. But, this morning, I couldn’t help but think of you and how fond you were of that bakery near your office building back when you still worked there.

Everything still reminds me of you, and I guess in a way, I still look for you in everyone I meet.

He isn’t as calculated as you are, nor does he have the best judgement. He doesn’t tell me off when I’m getting too erratic, and there’s still a lot of things he’s indecisive about.

He’s silly, sometimes frivolous, and clumsy even. But, in a way, it’s quite endearing.

You’d probably tell me I’m being selfish by how I compare him to you, huh? …I know, I get it. I just—I don’t know what to think, or feel. I enjoy his company, but I think he sees more in us, and I’m not ready to give him that because I still haven’t moved on from you.

It’s unfair for him to have to pick up the shattered pieces of me."

* * *

xix.

"I haven’t felt like this since the last time I was with you. I’d like to think that I’m feeling a little bit happy, at least, there are times where my grief doesn’t paralyze me.

He’s nice; he treats me well and takes care of me when the pain becomes unbearable. I know—I know how selfish this makes me sound but… You were something else, and I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone who can ever make me feel the way that you did.

Do you believe in soulmates? Because I do. And I know in my heart that it was you.

It will always be you.

You are the first person I ever, truly loved, did you know that? And I wish you had been the last."

* * *

xx.

"I went on a hike, you know, for all that soul-searching shit you see a lot of people do these days. I often thought it was ridiculous, but I never knew just how much I needed this.

I know we said we’ll do something like this together, and I wish we had done so. I think you would have found peace in this too.

…You know what? It’s time I finally stop running away from my feelings.

It’s time for me to get back on track, figure out how to move forward… Move on.

* * *

xii.

“It took me months, but I finally walked the streets of Shibuya.

It’s quiet today. Can you believe it? Shibuya—quiet? I mean, I get it. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be afraid after what happened? Nothing’s been the same since that incident, and honestly, I don’t think it’ll ever be. At least, not for me.

Sometimes I look around and think: how? How can the world keep moving? How can people keep moving, knowing how many lives were snuffed here? But, I guess that’s just life, right? It keeps going, regardless of all its unfulfilled promises, regardless of everything it takes from you.

I still don’t know what happened to you, and it’s been so long since I last talked to Yuji. I wonder if I walked the path you had taken. I wonder if I passed the place I lost you in…

I’m sorry. There are still so many things I wish I could’ve said to you. But most of all, I should’ve—I should have told you I loved you more. But I hope you knew just how much I did. I still do. I don’t think that will ever change.”

* * *

xiii.

“It’s your birthday today. You would’ve been 29. I can’t help but wonder how we would've celebrated it.

Do you remember your 28th? You wanted to stay home for the night but you couldn’t pass up the offer when I practically begged you to go with me to the ramen shop down the block. I don’t know what happened, but we ended up in the park, drunk out of our minds, and I even taught you that silly dance I learned back when I was still in school.

You tried to hold back your laugh; you did that so often, but you always had that look on your face when you were happy... What I’d give to see that right now. God, what I’d give to see you right now. To greet you, to hold you—had I just known that that was the last birthday I’d get to spend with you… I would have given you so, so much more.

Um, anyway. I got you something—it’s that book you were staring at the last time we passed by the bookstore. I’ll keep it at your bedside table, but you wouldn’t mind if I gave it a read, right?

Happy 29th birthday, my love. I hope we can dance under the stars together again.”

* * *

xiv.

“It’s hard to breathe today. I can’t find the energy to get up from bed, so I think I’m going to call in another sick leave. I think this is the last one I have.

You know, I thought things were finally starting to look up, that I was slowly starting to feel better, but I can’t help this feeling once in a while. It’s suffocating, and I can’t even begin to describe how empty I feel.

If you were still here, you’d tell me to keep going, right? You always found the right words to encourage me, even when I’m so fucking close to giving up. Well, if you’re worried about that, I can assure you that I won’t. That’s what you have wanted, right? Then no, I’m not giving up, no matter how much it hurts.

But… I miss the way you always knew what to say in every situation, no matter good or bad. I miss the way you’d rest my head on your shoulder and softly whisper all those words to me. I miss the way your fingertips would shyly graze mine before you take my hand in yours; I miss the gentleness of your embraces, your kisses; I miss the way you make me feel safe, and loved, and cherished.

I just miss you. So, so goddamn much, Kento.”

* * *

xv.

“I had a nightmare. The things that Yuji chose to tell me about, those were the scenes that played out. And although I couldn’t remember exactly everything that happened, there is something that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

Your smile.

You had this expression on your face, a smile of acceptance, as if you were already resigned to your fate, to your death.

No, that can’t be—you didn’t just give up. Was it that hopeless?  But, knowing you, all you’ve ever wanted was to rest. You’re practical, you wouldn’t have given up unless you knew there was nothing else you could have done.

I tried to scream, to call out your name, but no sound came out. You had your eyes set on Yuji. What could it have been? What were you thinking of?

…You’ve done enough, my dear. I hope you’ve found the peace this life couldn’t give you; I hope you’re now resting well.

* * *

vii.

“You shouldn’t have gone. I told you not to go. But time and time again, you walk out of that door and risk your life. You never listen to me, do you? Not when someone needs saving, not when someone needs help; all that righteous shit that made me fall in love with you in the first place. And now look where it’s led you…

I knew I should’ve followed my gut feeling. There was something wrong that day—Fuck… I knew I should've done more to make you stay.”

* * *

viii.

“It hurts. You’ve always kept your promises, you always made sure you did. So, why now? Why like this?

I know, it’s selfish and stupid of me to ask these. None of this was your fault, but I don’t know who else to talk to. I’m just so… Lost. And empty. You probably think I’m crazy, right? That I’m still sending you these voicemails knowing you won’t respond. But, deep down, I’m still hoping that you will. One day, maybe.

It’s not wrong, right? For me to hold on to the thought of you coming back?”

* * *

ix.

“I tried to cook your favorite dish today. Ha, I'm going to be honest, it tasted like shit. I think I must have put too much salt or something. You know, I still don't know how you're able to cook so damn well.

Do you remember that time when I came home from a really bad day at work? I was so damn close to quitting, but you just knew how to cheer me up, didn’t you? You knew how much I loved your omurice.

I wish you taught me how to cook the way you did. So I can remember how your food tasted like, even when you’re gone. I wish I could put into words how much comfort your cooking gave me. Well… I guess I’ll have to keep trying till I get it right.”

* * *

x.

“It’s weird spending the holidays without you by my side. The house feels empty. But I tried my best to set up the tree. Definitely was a lot harder to get the star up without your help, but I managed.

It sucks not having someone to hold, to do Christmas shopping with, to walk under the snowfall with, to open presents with, to kiss under the mistletoe, to watch the fireworks with, and to make up New Year’s resolutions with no intent to follow it through, but, I’ll try to keep the holiday spirit alive, for you.

* * *

ii. 

“You said you'd be home tonight. It’s past eleven. It must be another one of those missions, huh? You always hate those types. Well, the food’s cold, but I’ll heat it up for you when you get home. Whenever that will be.”

* * *

iii.

“You know… I’m starting to get a little worried. You normally would have reached out to me already. I’m guessing it’s a mess there then? Nothing you can’t handle though, right? Stay safe.”

* * *

iv.

“Kento, I just need to hear your voice. Please, let me know you’re okay. Please.”

* * *

v.