The movie had been playing for nearly thirty minutes, and Rin hadn't looked at the screen once.

Not that anyone else would notice.

He sat with his usual expression—calm, unreadable, arms crossed over his chest. To anyone passing by, he looked completely focused on the action movie flashing across the theater screen.

But you knew better.

"You've missed half the plot," you whispered, eyes still on the movie.

"I know what's happening."

"You literally haven't looked up."

"I heard it."

You stifled a laugh.

Rin clicked his tongue softly, but you caught the faint pink tint on the tips of his ears illuminated by the screen's glow.

This was your first actual date.

Not hanging out after practice. Not accidentally walking home together. A real date.

And apparently, Rin Itoshi was more nervous than he'd ever admit.

The realization made your chest feel warm.

A dramatic explosion echoed through the theater, making the seats shake slightly. Instinctively, you flinched.

A second later, something brushed against your hand.

You glanced down.

Rin's hand rested awkwardly beside yours on the armrest.

Not touching.

Just... there.

Almost touching.

Your heart skipped.

Slowly, you moved your pinky toward his.

The second your fingers made contact, Rin froze.

Completely.

You bit back a smile.

After a few seconds, his hand shifted.

Then his fingers slipped between yours.

Firmly.

Like he had finally made up his mind.

You turned to look at him.

Rin refused to meet your eyes.

His gaze remained fixed on the screen.

But his grip tightened slightly.

"...Watch the movie," he muttered.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You held my hand like it was a life-or-death decision."

For the first time all evening, Rin finally looked at you.

His blue-green eyes narrowed.

Then, without warning, he leaned closer.

Close enough for you to feel your breath catch.

"If you keep talking," he said quietly, "I might kiss you just to shut you up."

Your face immediately burned.

Rin smirked.

Actually smirked.

A rare, dangerous sight.

"Thought so."

You stared at him in disbelief.

"That was unfair."

"Worked, though."

The rest of the movie passed with your hand in his.

Neither of you paid much attention to the ending.

And when the credits rolled and the lights came on, Rin stood first, still holding your hand.

"Want to get food?" he asked.

You smiled.

"Is that your way of asking me on a second date?"

Rin looked away.

"...Maybe."

That tiny hint of embarrassment was all the answer you needed.

The studio smelled like hairspray, coffee, and expensive fabric.

You stood near the rack of designer clothes trying not to look as nervous as you felt while stylists buzzed around like frantic bees. Cameras clicked somewhere behind the white backdrop. Someone shouted about lighting. Another person complained about late accessories.

And in the middle of all that chaos stood Nakahara Chuuya.

Effortlessly composed.

One hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored black slacks, the other adjusting the cuff of his gloves while a makeup artist fixed the smallest smudge near his eye. His auburn hair glowed under the studio lights, soft waves brushing his jawline.

Every person in the room moved around him carefully.

Like orbiting gravity.

Because Chuuya wasn’t just famous.

He was the Nakahara Chuuya—top model, fashion icon, nightmare for tabloids, and the man who had sold out three luxury campaigns in a single month.

And somehow…

You were his shoot partner today.

You swallowed hard as the director waved you over.

“Perfect timing! We’re starting couple shots!”

Couple shots.

Right.

Your agency had called yesterday in a panic because the original model dropped out last minute. You’d barely slept after learning you’d be working with Chuuya himself.

You expected arrogance.

Expected cold professionalism.

Expected someone impossible to approach.

Instead—

Chuuya glanced at you, blinking once before smirking.

“So you’re my replacement partner?”

His voice was smooth and low.

You nodded quickly. “Y-Yeah.”

“Relax.” He tilted his head slightly. “You look like you’re about to face execution.”

A few nearby staff laughed softly.

Heat crawled into your face.

“I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be.” He stepped closer, gaze sharp but not unkind. “Photographers smell fear. You gotta pretend you own the room.”

“That easy?”

“For me? Yeah.”

The arrogance in his grin should’ve annoyed you.

Instead it made your stomach flip.

The stylist suddenly shoved a bundle of clothes into your arms. “Changing room. Five minutes!”

—

The first outfit was elegant.

Black silk.

Gold accents.

Matching aesthetics designed to make the two of you look like wealthy lovers from an old mafia film.

You stepped out from the dressing area nervously adjusting your sleeves.

The studio quieted for half a second.

And Chuuya looked up.

His eyes widened just slightly.

It was tiny.

Barely noticeable.

But you caught it.

“…Damn,” he muttered.

Your heart stumbled.

The stylist clapped excitedly. “YES. Perfect visual chemistry.”

Chuuya recovered instantly, clearing his throat before offering you his hand dramatically.

“C’mere, partner.”

You placed your hand in his gloved one.

Warm.

Firm.

Dangerous.

The photographer began directing immediately.

“Closer.”

Chuuya pulled you against him without hesitation.

“Lift their chin slightly—good. Eye contact. Perfect.”

The camera shutter exploded rapidly.

You tried focusing on the poses, but it became difficult when Chuuya’s hand rested against your waist like it belonged there.

Difficult when his face hovered inches from yours.

Difficult when his voice brushed against your ear quietly enough that only you could hear.

“You’re stiff.”

“I wonder why.”

He chuckled.

The sound was unfairly attractive.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Your brain nearly short-circuited.

The photographer groaned dramatically. “God, the tension is incredible. Chuuya, tilt your forehead against theirs.”

He did immediately.

And suddenly the world got very small.

Just his scent.

His warmth.

His blue eyes staring directly into yours beneath the flashing lights.

Your breath caught.

Something changed in his expression then.

The teasing faded.

Replaced by something quieter.

More focused.

The camera clicks slowed.

“Hold that,” the photographer murmured.

Chuuya’s thumb brushed lightly against your waist.

A completely unnecessary touch.

But intentional.

Very intentional.

Your pulse jumped.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

That smug little smile returned.

“There we go,” he whispered. “Now you look natural.”

You wanted to hit him.

Instead your face got hotter.

—

By the second set, the entire crew was obsessed with your chemistry.

“They flirt naturally!”

“They look insane together.”

“Get behind-the-scenes footage!”

You sat on a stool while a stylist fixed your hair again, trying to ignore the way Chuuya lounged nearby scrolling through his phone.

“You always this popular on set?” you asked.

“Hm?” He looked over lazily. “Yeah.”

“At least you’re humble.”

“I’m gorgeous and talented. Humility would be dishonest.”

You snorted unexpectedly.

And Chuuya froze.

“…What?”

“What?”

“You laughed.”

“You said something stupid.”

“No, no.” He pointed at you dramatically. “Do it again.”

“What kind of request is that?”

“That laugh.” His gaze softened faintly. “Cute.”

Your stomach betrayed you again.

“You flirt with everyone?”

“Only people I like.”

Oh.

Oh.

Before you could respond, the photographer called for the next setup.

This one was worse.

Or better.

Depending on perspective.

A luxurious velvet couch sat beneath dim gold lighting, the mood intimate and decadent.

“You,” the photographer pointed at Chuuya, “sit.”

Chuuya dropped onto the couch casually, legs spread slightly.

Then the photographer pointed at you.

“Sit on his lap.”

Your soul left your body.

“…Excuse me?”

“It’ll look hot.”

Chuuya looked far too entertained by your horror.

“You heard the artist.”

“You seem very happy about this.”

“I’m having a fantastic time.”

The crew waited expectantly.

You inhaled once before carefully sitting sideways across Chuuya’s lap.

His hand immediately settled on your thigh to steady you.

The contact burned through the fabric.

“You okay?” he murmured near your ear.

“No.”

He laughed softly again.

The photographer circled you both like a shark. “Excellent. Chuuya, look at them like you’re obsessed.”

The room went quiet.

Because Chuuya did it instantly.

No hesitation.

No acting warm-up.

One second he looked amused—

And the next his gaze turned devastating.

Intense.

Possessive.

Like you were genuinely something precious.

Your breath caught hard enough the photographer shouted, “YES, THAT LOOK!”

Chuuya’s thumb slowly stroked against your thigh.

Tiny movement.

Hidden from cameras.

Not hidden from you.

“You’re blushing,” he said softly.

“You’re evil.”

“You noticed.”

The shutter clicks became nonstop.

And somewhere between the lights, the laughter, and Chuuya’s steady hand against your skin—

Pretending started feeling dangerously real.

—

After hours of shooting, the studio finally wrapped near midnight.

Everyone looked exhausted.

Except Chuuya somehow.

You sat near the mirrors removing jewelry while the crew packed equipment away.

“You did good today.”

You looked up through the reflection to find Chuuya leaning against the doorway.

“Thanks.”

“No panic attacks. Proud of you.”

“You’re never escaping the short jokes if you keep annoying me.”

“Short jokes are discrimination against the beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

A quieter silence settled after that.

Comfortable.

Unexpected.

Then Chuuya stepped closer.

Close enough that your heartbeat immediately acted traitorous again.

“You free tonight?”

“…It’s literally midnight.”

“And?”

“And normal people sleep.”

“I’m a model. I survive on caffeine and spite.”

You laughed softly.

Again that look crossed his face.

That fond one.

Like he liked hearing you laugh more than he should.

“There’s a café nearby still open,” he continued. “Come with me.”

Your breath caught slightly.

“This a date?”

His smirk returned slowly.

“If you want it to be.”

The studio lights reflected in his blue eyes like fractured stars.

Confident.

Magnetic.

Dangerous.

And somehow beneath all that fame and arrogance…

Real.

You should’ve said no.

Probably.

Instead you stood, grabbing your bag.

“…Fine.”

Chuuya grinned victoriously and held out his hand again.

“C’mon then, sweetheart.”

And this time—

When you took it—

The afternoon light spilled across the city like melted gold, bouncing off glass buildings and softening everything it touched. You sat on a bench outside the training facility, idly scrolling through your phone, pretending you weren’t waiting.

But you were.

Because waiting for him had become a habit you never quite broke.

“Y/N.”

That voice—smooth, confident, familiar—pulled you out of your thoughts instantly.

You looked up.

Reo Mikage stood a few steps away, hair slightly damp from practice, hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders. He looked like he had just walked out of a world where effort didn’t exist—yet his eyes told a different story. Focused. Sharp. Always watching, always calculating.

And then, when they landed on you, they softened.

“You came,” he said, like it wasn’t obvious.

You raised a brow. “You texted me three times saying ‘come watch me or I’ll get worse out of spite.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “That sounds like something I would say.”

“It is something you said.”

Reo laughed lightly, sitting down beside you. The bench dipped slightly under his weight, and suddenly the space between you felt smaller—warm, comfortable, almost too natural.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You watched the way he rolled a water bottle between his hands, the way his fingers flexed like he was still half in the field, half in his head.

“You played well today,” you finally said.

His eyes flicked to you. “Just ‘well’?”

“You want a trophy?”

“I already have those,” he replied smoothly. Then, softer: “I wanted to hear it from you.”

That caught you off guard.

Reo Mikage wasn’t someone who needed validation. He was someone who collected success like it was inevitable. But with you, there was always this quiet shift—like he stopped being a prodigy and started being just… him.

You leaned back slightly, watching the sky. “You were amazing then. Happy?”

A pause.

Then his shoulder brushed yours, subtle but intentional. “Better.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It never was with him. It was more like a shared breath neither of you rushed to let go of.

After a while, Reo spoke again. “Do you ever think about running away?”

You blinked. “That’s random.”

“I mean it,” he said, gaze forward now. “No pressure. No expectations. No people waiting for you to be something.”

You thought about it for a moment.

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I think I’d get bored.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “Of course you would.”

You nudged his arm. “What about you? Mr. Perfect Life?”

Reo leaned back, looking up at the sky like it had answers. “I already ran away once,” he said. “From being ‘just Reo Mikage.’”

You glanced at him.

There it was again—that thing under the surface. The ambition, the pride… and the loneliness he never said out loud.

“And?” you asked gently.

“And I found something worse.” A pause. Then his voice softened. “Something I don’t want to lose.”

Your heart did that annoying thing it always did around him—like it forgot how to stay normal.

You looked away quickly. “You’re being weird today.”

“I’m always weird,” he said. “You just tolerate it.”

“That’s generous of me.”

A faint smile returned to his face, but this one lingered. “Y/N.”

“Hm?”

He turned slightly toward you. Now he wasn’t joking. Not teasing. Not playing.

Just him.

“If I ever get too far ahead,” he said quietly, “pull me back.”

You stared at him. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“I trust you with it.”

That sentence landed heavier than it should’ve.

You swallowed. “Reo…”

He shifted closer, just enough that his knee touched yours. “I’m serious.”

The wind picked up slightly, brushing between you like it was trying to interrupt something important.

You sighed, then bumped your shoulder against his. “Fine. But only because you’d get unbearable if I didn’t.”

A small, relieved smile crossed his face.

“Good,” he said.

Then, softer, almost like an afterthought:

“I like you here.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

They just stayed.

You felt your cheeks warm and looked away again, pretending the sky was suddenly very interesting.

“…You’re annoying,” you muttered.

Reo chuckled under his breath. “And you’re not denying it.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t need to.

Somewhere between silence and laughter, between ambition and stillness, you realized something simple:

He always came back to you.

The apartment was quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows.

You sat cross-legged on Rin’s bed, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies while scrolling mindlessly through your phone. The clock on the wall blinked 12:03 AM in dim blue light.

Midnight.

Rin glanced up from where he sat at his desk, earbuds hanging around his neck. “You’re still awake?”

“You say that like you aren’t,” you muttered.

“Hm.”

Typical Rin response.

He pushed his chair back and walked over, dark teal eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. His damp hair fell over his forehead from the shower he’d taken earlier, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

“You’ve been staring at me for ten seconds,” he said flatly.

Your face heated instantly. “I was not.”

“You were.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he sat beside you before you could. The mattress dipped under his weight, shoulder brushing yours.

Warm.

Rin tilted his head slightly. “Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re fidgeting.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward—barely a smile, but enough to make your heart trip over itself.

Outside, thunder rumbled softly.

You looked away first.

“Happy midnight,” you mumbled.

Rin was quiet for a moment.

Then his fingers hooked under your chin gently, turning your face back toward him.

“Happy midnight,” he repeated, voice lower now.

Your breath caught.

Rin Itoshi wasn’t soft with words. He wasn’t the type to say cheesy things or shower someone with affection. But the way he looked at you right then—like the entire room had gone silent except for you—felt more intimate than any confession.

Slowly, he leaned closer.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

The fact that he asked nearly killed you.

You nodded once.

That was all he needed.

His lips met yours carefully at first, warm and hesitant like he was testing whether this was real. Then your hand slid into his shirt, gripping softly, and Rin exhaled against your mouth like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

The kiss deepened.

Gentle. Sleepy. Midnight-soft.

The kind of kiss that tasted like rain and quiet longing.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re smiling,” he murmured.

“So are you.”

The apartment was definitely not made for three people.

Not comfortably, anyway.

Between the tiny couch, the even tinier kitchen, and the fact that neither Nagi nor Hugo understood the concept of “personal space,” it was a miracle you hadn’t kicked one of them out yet.

Or both.But then again… you didn’t really want to.“Why is it so hot in here?” you complained for the third time in ten minutes, dramatically leaning against the fridge like you were seconds away from passing out.

Nagi, face half-buried in the couch cushion, didn’t even open his eyes. “You say that every five minutes.”“Because it keeps being true every five minutes,” you shot back.

Hugo, who had somehow taken up way more space than physically possible, stretched his arms behind his head and glanced over at you.

Slowly.Very slowly.“…You could just wear something less… tight.”You blinked at him.Then looked down at yourself again.

Then back up—with a smile that immediately meant trouble.“Oh?” you said, voice way too sweet. “So you’ve been staring long enough to notice?”Hugo didn’t even flinch.

“Hard not to.”Nagi let out a quiet, tired sigh. “You’re both annoying.”You pushed yourself off the fridge and walked over, bare feet soft against the floor, stopping right in front of the couch.

Nagi cracked one eye open.Hugo didn’t look away at all.“You know,” you said casually, crossing your arms, “it’s kind of funny how you two act like you’re not affected.”“Not affected,”

Nagi repeated flatly.“Yeah,” you nodded. “Like I’m just… existing. Harmless. Innocent.”Hugo let out a low laugh. “You? Innocent?”You leaned down slightly, just enough to be in their space, your grin widening.

“What? You don’t think I’m innocent?”Nagi sat up a little, finally giving you his full attention.“That depends,” he said slowly, “on whether you’re pretending not to notice what you’re doing.”You tilted your head. “And what am I doing?”

Silence.Hugo shifted forward, elbows on his knees now, eyes locked on you. “You walk around like that,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “then act surprised when we react.”

You gasped softly, placing a hand on your chest in mock offense. “React? I haven’t seen much reacting.”That did it.In one lazy but decisive motion, Nagi reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you down onto the couch.

Right between them.You barely had time to react before you were trapped—one on each side, heat immediately surrounding you.“…Oh,” you said, blinking. “So you *can* move when you want to.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Nagi muttered, but he didn’t let go of your wrist.Hugo leaned back again, arm stretching behind you along the back of the couch, caging you in without even trying to hide it.

“You talk a lot,” he said, smirking slightly.You leaned back too, completely unfazed, your shoulder brushing against his arm.“And you both take forever to do anything about it,” you replied.

There was a pause.A charged one.Nagi glanced at you, then at Hugo.Hugo raised an eyebrow like, *well?*You smiled.“See?” you added softly.

“All talk.”Nagi clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed—but not enough to move away.“If you keep pushing,” he said, voice lower now, “you’re going to regret it.”You turned your head toward him, way too close now, your expression playful but your eyes sharp.

“Regret what?”Hugo laughed under his breath. “She’s doing it again.”“Doing what?” you asked, already knowing the answer.“Testing us.”

You shrugged slightly. “Maybe I’m just bored.”“Then stop,” Nagi said.You didn’t.Instead, you shifted just enough to settle more comfortably between them, your leg brushing against his, your shoulder pressing more into Hugo’s side.

“If you want me to stop,” you said lightly, “you’ll have to make me.”Another pause.This one heavier.

Nagi stared at you for a second longer than usual, like he was debating whether you were serious or just being annoying again.

Hugo didn’t bother debating.“You really don’t think we will,” he said.You smiled.“I don’t think you’ve decided yet.”That was probably the most honest thing you’d said all day.

For a moment, no one moved.Then Nagi exhaled slowly, leaning back again—but his hand slid from your wrist to your arm, resting there like it belonged.Hugo shifted closer, his presence warm and solid at your side.

“You’re a problem,” he muttered.You leaned your head back against the couch, perfectly content.“And you’re both still here,” you reminded him.“…Yeah,” Nagi said quietly.Hugo huffed a small laugh. “Unfortunately.”

You turned your head slightly, glancing between them with a soft, smug expression.“Admit it,” you said. “You like it.”Nagi didn’t answer.Hugo didn’t deny it.And when the silence settled again, it wasn’t awkward.It was comfortable.

Charged.Yours.After a minute, you stretched lazily, like nothing had happened.“So,” you said, way too casually, “who’s making food? I’m starving.”Nagi groaned immediately. “Not me.”Hugo sighed.

“You just trapped us here.”You grinned.“Exactly.”And neither of them moved to get up.

@ivytheweeaboo u got me this idea when i Saw post with nagi and Hugo two fine men why don't have oneshoot with both of them????

Maybe i do continue but u must tell me what would be good in next part 🤭

"Nagi, look!"

Nagi glanced up from his phone, barely interested.

Y/N was standing in front of him with the biggest smile he'd ever seen, holding a tiny white kitten in her hands.

The kitten meowed.

His eyes widened a little.

"...Small."

"I know, right?!"

Before Nagi could even react, Y/N plopped down beside him on the couch and placed the kitten in his lap.

The kitten immediately started climbing.

"Nn."

"Nagi!"

"What?"

"It's climbing you."

"I noticed."

The kitten somehow managed to reach his shoulder before taking interest in his fluffy silver hair.

Y/N burst out laughing.

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"It likes your hair."

The kitten dug its tiny paws into Nagi's hair and settled there like it had found its forever home.

"..."

"..."

"...I think it adopted you."

Nagi sighed dramatically.

"Too much work."

The kitten meowed.

"It literally weighs less than a soccer ball."

"Still work."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

The kitten curled into a tiny fluffy ball on top of Nagi's head.

Neither of them moved.

A few seconds later, Nagi took a selfie.

Y/N gasped.

"YOU TOOK A PICTURE?"

"It's funny."

"You never take pictures."

"This is important."

"The kitten?"

"The kitten."

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

"Not me?"

"No."

"Rude."

Nagi looked at her for a moment.

Then he snapped another picture.

This time, it was Y/N leaning against him while the kitten slept in his hair.

His ears turned slightly pink.

Y/N immediately noticed.

"Oh."

"What?"

"You included me."

"By accident."

"Liar."

Nagi looked away.

The kitten chose that exact moment to stretch and accidentally smack him in the face with its tiny paw.

Y/N laughed so hard she almost fell off the couch.

Even Nagi smiled.

A real smile.

The kind he rarely showed.

Y/N stared.

"...There it is."

"What?"

"Your smile."

Nagi froze.

His cheeks became even redder.

"Tch."

"Awww."

"Don't make it weird."

"You make everything weird."

The kitten meowed again.

Then it climbed down from Nagi's hair and curled up in Y/N's lap.

"Traitor," Nagi muttered.

Y/N stared at him.

"...Did you just get jealous of a kitten?"

"No."

"You totally did."

"No."

"Seishiro."

"It's stealing my spot."

Silence.

Then realization hit Y/N.

Her face turned bright red.

"NAGI!"

"What?"

"You can't just say things like that!"

Nagi blinked.

Completely innocent.

Then he slowly rested his head on her shoulder.

"There."

"There what?"

"Got my spot back."

Y/N thought her heart might actually explode.

Sae noticed it immediately.

The moment you walked into the room, his eyes locked onto the familiar number on your back.“…Why are you wearing my jersey?”

You froze mid-step.“…Problem?”“That’s my jersey,” he said calmly, arms crossed, eyes sharp.You looked down at yourself.“Oh. This?”You shrugged.“I found it.”“In my room.”“Exactly.”

Silence.

Sae sighed, rubbing his temple.“…You know people are going to think things.”You tilted your head.“Think what?”

His gaze lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary.“…Nothing,” he muttered.You smirked.“Then why do you look annoyed?”

“I’m not annoyed,” he replied flatly.“I just don’t like my stuff being taken.”You stepped closer.“Then why didn’t you ask for it back?”He paused.“…It suits you.”

Your smile faltered just a bit.“…Really?”He looked away.“Don’t read into it.”You laughed softly.“Too late.”You started to walk past him, but he caught your wrist gently.“…Keep it,” he said quietly.

The night in the city was unusually quiet—too quiet, as if even the wind had learned to hold its breath.

You shouldn’t have been out this late.

But the walk home felt longer than usual, and the streets felt safer under the dim glow of streetlights than the suffocating silence of your apartment. So you kept going, footsteps echoing softly along empty pavement.

That’s when you noticed him.

Leaning beneath a flickering lamp, half-hidden in the shadows, stood Nagi Seishiro.

Except… something was wrong.

He wasn’t his usual sleepy, indifferent self. His silver hair still fell messily over his eyes, but they weren’t half-lidded anymore. They were watching you. Fully awake. Focused. Predatory in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Nagi…?” you called carefully.

He tilted his head slightly, as if your voice was a sound he was tasting rather than hearing.

“You’re out late,” he said flatly.

“You’re one to talk.”

A pause.

Then he pushed off the wall and walked toward you.

Each step was slow. Controlled. Like he was restraining himself from moving too fast.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured.

A nervous laugh almost left your lips. “That’s my line.”

But the closer he got, the more you noticed it—something pale about his skin, something sharper in his presence. And when the streetlight caught his eyes just right, your breath caught.

They weren’t normal.

A faint glow. A depth that didn’t belong to anything human.

“You’re staring,” he said.

“I—sorry. Your eyes just…”

“Changed?”

Silence stretched between you.

Then he sighed, like this was inconvenient.

“I was trying not to run into anyone tonight,” he said lazily. “But it’s kind of annoying. You’re in my way.”

“In your way?” you echoed. “I’m literally just walking home.”

He stepped closer again. Close enough now that you could feel a strange chill radiating off him, despite the mild night air.

And then he said it, almost casually:

“I’m hungry.”

Your stomach dropped. “What—like, go get food hungry?”

“No.”

That single word was quiet.

Final.

His gaze flicked briefly to your neck before returning to your eyes, like he was deciding something.

“I need blood.”

Everything in you told you to run.

But your feet didn’t move.

Maybe it was the way he looked—less like a monster and more like someone tired of fighting what he was.

“You’re… serious,” you whispered.

Nagi blinked slowly. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then, softer:

“It’s fine if you don’t want to.”

That surprised you more than anything else.

The silence between you stretched again, thinner this time. Fragile.

You should’ve said no.

You should’ve left.

Instead, you took a small breath and asked, “Will it hurt?”

Nagi seemed to think about that.

“…Not if I’m careful.”

That didn’t sound reassuring at all.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t force. Didn’t grab.

He just waited.

Like he actually meant it.

After a moment, you gave a hesitant nod.

“Okay. But… just don’t make it weird.”

His expression didn’t change much, but something in his shoulders eased slightly.

“It’s always weird,” he said.

Then he stepped closer.

Carefully—almost annoyingly gentle for something that should’ve been terrifying. He tilted your head slightly, just enough to expose your neck to the cool night air.

You felt his presence hover there for a second… then stillness.

“I’ll be quick,” he muttered.

And then—

A faint sting.

Not sharp enough to be pain. More like pressure, then warmth spreading outward in slow waves. Your breath caught, fingers curling slightly at your sides.

Nagi didn’t move more than necessary. No unnecessary force. No rush.

Just quiet focus.

Like he was doing something routine.

The world around you blurred at the edges—the streetlight, the empty road, the distant hum of the city fading into something soft and distant.

And then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.

He pulled back.

You swayed slightly, and he caught you without hesitation. One arm steadying you like it was instinct.

“…Done,” he said.

You blinked a few times. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“You’re lighter than I expected,” he added, like it was an observation about groceries.

Despite yourself, a weak laugh escaped.

He released you slowly, watching you carefully now—not predatory anymore. Just… attentive in his usual detached way.

“You should go home,” he said.

“What about you?”

Nagi glanced away toward the darkened street.

“I’ll find somewhere else.”

Then, after a beat:

“And… thanks.”

That surprised you more than anything else tonight.

You adjusted your balance, still a little dizzy but okay. “Try not to scare people next time.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“That’s worse.”

He blinked. “…Fair.”

A quiet moment passed between you again—less tense now, almost strange in its normality.

Then he turned slightly, already fading back into the shadows.

“Nagi?”

He paused but didn’t look back.

You hesitated, then asked, “Was I just… convenient?”

A long silence.

Then, almost too soft to hear:

“No.”