#midari

it rests across your face first— not warm, not soft, but sharp in a quiet, persistent way. it pushes through your closed eyes, pale gold bleeding into something almost white, too bright to ignore, too constant to escape. there is no gentleness in it, no gradual pull into awareness. it is immediate. intrusive. like being seen before you are ready to be.

your brow shifts faintly, a small, unconscious reaction. your lashes twitch against it. your body registers it before your mind does, responding in subtle movements— a turn of your head, a slow adjustment of your shoulder, a quiet attempt to slip away from it.

it follows.

of course it does.

the heat lingers where it touches, clinging to your skin like something that has settled there long before you noticed. it does not burn, not exactly— it weighs. it sits, slow and suffocating, like air that has been trapped too long without disturbance. the room itself feels sealed.

not closed, sealed. as if the windows had not been opened in hours, or longer. as if the air has been sitting, unmoving, absorbing everything within it and refusing to let anything go.

you breathe in.

it is warm,

too warm.

not fresh, not clean, but layered. faint traces of something indistinct clinging to it. fabric. dust. something sweeter, dulled by time. something sharper, softened into the background. it all blends into something difficult to name, something that does not belong to a single moment but to many, overlapping, settling into one.

it reminds you of smoke.

not the kind you can see, not the kind that curls or drifts, but the kind that stays after. that clings. that lingers in places it should have already left. your lungs fill slowly, as if adjusting to it. your body feels… delayed. not heavy in the usual sense. not exhaustion. something quieter than that. like every movement has to pass through a layer before it reaches you. like you are slightly out of step with yourself, a second behind where you should be.

your eyes open, eventually.

not all at once.

slowly . . . .

reluctantly.

the ceiling comes into view first, blurred at the edges, light bleeding unevenly across its surface, catching small imperfections, soft shadows forming where there should be none. it takes a moment to focus. longer than it should.

time does not feel immediate here.

it stretches,

lingers.

folds into itself.

you blink once. twice.

the light does not change.

it remains exactly where it was, exactly as intense, exactly as present. it does not flicker, does not soften. it simply exists, unbothered by your awareness of it.

your gaze drifts, slow and unanchored, following the direction of the light as it cuts across the room. the curtains hang unevenly, one side pulled slightly more than the other, creating a narrow opening where the sunlight forces its way through. the fabric itself looks thin under it, almost translucent at the edges, the color washed out, drained by the brightness pressing against it.

dust floats there. tiny particles suspended in the beam, unmoving, as if time does not reach them. they catch the light in brief, dull glints, not sparkling, not alive, just present. existing in a space where nothing disturbs them.

you watch them for a moment.

or longer.

it is hard to tell.

your fingers shift faintly against the surface beneath you, the fabric warm, holding onto heat it has no intention of releasing. it feels used. not uncomfortable— just… settled into. like it remembers the weight of something before you noticed it.

the sheets are slightly uneven, creased in places that do not quite match how you’re lying now. small details that should not matter, but linger in your awareness longer than they should.

you do not move to fix them.

you do not move at all.

the silence is not complete.

it never is.

there is always something beneath it— faint, distant, barely there. the muted hum of electricity threading through the walls, low and constant. something outside, far enough to be indistinct, close enough to remind you the world continues without you noticing.

a vehicle passes somewhere below.

you do not hear it fully— just the suggestion of it. a low shift in the background, gone before it can settle into anything recognizable. the room absorbs everything else.

holds it.

keeps it from becoming more. your phone rests nearby, just within reach. the screen is dark, untouched, reflecting nothing but a warped fragment of the light above. it does not demand attention. it does not interrupt.

it simply exists.

like everything else.

you turn your head slightly, the movement slow, almost delayed, your gaze lingering on it for a moment before drifting away again.

there is no urgency.

no reason to reach for it.

not yet.

your breathing evens out gradually, adjusting to the weight of the air, the stillness of the space, the quiet persistence of everything around you. each inhale feels the same as the last— warm, slightly heavy.

your eyes close again, briefly.

not to sleep.

just to escape the light pressing against them, the presence of it too constant to ignore. even then, it lingers— faint, red, diffused through your eyelids, a softer version of the same thing.

it does not leave.

nothing here does.

when you open them again, nothing has changed.

the same light.

the same heat.

the same suspended stillness.

time passes.

quietly.

without announcement.

you feel it only in the slight shift of your awareness, the slow settling of your thoughts into something more present, more aligned, though still not entirely here.

you remain where you are. staring. breathing. existing within the moment without moving beyond it. because getting up would mean breaking it.

and for now,

you let it stay.

—

sunlight slants through the half-drawn curtains, painting the sheets in uneven streaks of pale gold and white, warm, heavy, almost suffocating. the air is still, thick, carrying that faint, lingering memory of smoke and dust, something sweet and acrid that refuses to dissipate.

then—

your phone vibrates against the surface, sudden, sharp, cutting through the thick haze of sunlight and still air. not loud— almost polite—but insistent. it startles you from the sluggish pull of the room, the slow, sticky heat, the faint smoke-tinged weight pressing against your chest. you do not reach for it immediately. your body is slow, still clinging to the lethargy of the afternoon, to the suspended moment you are unwilling to leave.

another vibration. then another. deliberate, patient, precise, insistent. it vibrates again, tapping rhythmically against the surface as if it knows you are watching it but refuses to move itself. the kind of rhythm that drags your attention even when you do not want to move.

and when you finally glance at the screen, it is enough to make the quiet thrum of the room shift: Midari.

the name blazes across the display, bright against the dim haze of the curtains, and the air feels suddenly thinner. she is calling, but it does not feel urgent. it feels deliberate. like she has been waiting for you to notice, waiting to pull you into something she will not explain. your fingers twitch, almost reaching, almost touching, but you do not pick it up. not yet. your body still clings to the lethargy of the afternoon, to the suspended, lazy weight of the room.

once again, it buzzes. slightly louder, closer, shaking the fabric beneath it in tiny, precise vibrations. the sound carries over the faint hum of electricity in the walls, over the muffled distant traffic, over the occasional creak of the building settling in the heat. it is sharp, small, a single insistence repeated until you cannot ignore it, until it presses against your chest with the same heaviness as the light.

and suddenly, the room feels smaller.

the heat presses harder. the light feels thicker, clinging to your skin, settling into your hair, pooling along the edges of the sheets. dust drifts in long, lazy strands across the sunbeams, suspended and shimmering faintly as if noticing nothing but the phone.

your hand moves slightly again, almost brushing the device, your fingers twitching with hesitation. the buzzing stops. a moment of silence stretches across the room, the quiet almost heavier than the sound itself. then it begins again, slow, deliberate, patient, repeating the same rhythm over and over.

you breathe in. the air is warm, layered, scented faintly of stale fabric, lingering smoke, sunlight thickened by inactivity. the vibration presses against your palm even before you touch it. it does not scream for attention. it does not demand. it waits.

You call me on the telephone, you feel so far away.

not for the reason of distance, not because of absence. yet because she is calling without reason yet, without introduction, without explanation. just the insistence of her presence, stretched thin across a line of electricity, waiting for you to reach for it.

you lie there, hand hovering, caught between the warmth of the room and the pull of the phone. the afternoon stretches on. dust glimmers faintly in the sunbeams. the air is slow, heavy, unyielding.

and still, the phone vibrates.

—

the phone rests against the surface, quiet now, the last vibration fading into the thick heat of the afternoon. light spills through the half-drawn curtains, stretched and heavy, gilding the edges of the room in a haze that presses against your skin. dust floats lazily in the streaks, catching the gold like tiny suspended lanterns, each one trembling in stillness.

the memory of the vibration lingers—sharp, insistent, deliberate. it pulses in your hand even when the phone is silent, echoing the possibility of movement, of something shifting beyond the warmth, the still air, the slow weight pressing in from every angle. you can almost feel her presence across the distance, not in sound but in the inevitability of it. it is certain, deliberate, like a hand reaching toward you without actually touching.

You tell me to come over, there's some games you want to play.

and then there is the thought: she wants you there.

the reason? not because she needs company, not for conversation, not for the comfort of routine. but for something unspoken, something poised between intention and impulse, hovering just out of reach. the idea coils in your chest, light and dangerous, pressing against the slow rhythm of your heartbeat.

you imagine the space she inhabits, the way it is shaped by her, marked by her presence alone. the anticipation hangs thick in the air: the weight of a room waiting to be entered, of games arranged with intention, of plans that are never explained but felt. each object in that space, each shadow cast by the late sun, seems deliberate. calculated. playful, and yet sharp-edged, like a trap set and labeled only for you to notice.

your body stirs beneath the sheets, slow, reluctant, caught between inertia and the pull that she exerts without effort. there is no conversation. no words are spoken. only the echo of that certainty, the knowledge of what is expected without ever being named.

the air in your room feels heavier now, dense with anticipation. every particle of dust and lingering heat presses against your awareness, layering itself over the quiet pulse of the afternoon. the sunlight streaks across your skin, warming it, almost suffocating it, and somehow the room beyond your door seems brighter, sharper, alive with her absence and promise.

she wants you there.

and that thought twists in your chest, unrelenting, inescapable, like a slow game of waiting where the rules are never told, and yet every instinct in your body knows them. your hand twitches. your heart stutters. the room is still, sticky with sunlight and lingering smoke-scented warmth, but somehow, you feel already moved, already pulled forward.

it is not about words. it is not about reason. it is about the invisible line that connects you, the silent command carried on a phone, and the inescapable draw toward her, toward the space she has marked for you.

the pull is subtle. it is dangerous. it is thrilling.

and it will not release you.

your body finally disentangles itself from the sheets, sluggish but deliberate. the sunlight cuts across the room, harsh, spilling through the curtains in thick, angled beams, illuminating dust motes that drift lazily, almost hypnotically. each streak of light feels heavier than the last, weighted with anticipation, and the lingering scent of smoke that refuses to leave.

you move toward your dresser slowly, each step measured, as if the floor itself is aware of your motion. the fabric of your clothes lies in uneven piles, soft and worn, waiting for you to drape them across your skin. your fingers brush against each piece, lingering, feeling texture, weight, temperature. the choice is almost insignificant, yet somehow precise— the fabric you wear will bear the memory of the air outside, the heat of sunlight, the pull of someone else’s presence.

finally dressed, the world beyond your room already presses in. sunlight slants through the windows, golden and thick, seeping into every corner, bathing walls, floors, and furniture in an almost suffocating warmth. it is quiet, too quiet. but the air hums with the expectation of motion, the almost imperceptible weight of anticipation.

your phone is left behind, silent. she has already sent her call, her invisible instruction etched into your awareness. you do not need confirmation. it exists as fact. as command, as lure.

I'm walking to your house,

the hallway greets you in shadowed warmth, flooring warm beneath bare feet, walls lined with muted echoes of the day. you step carefully, deliberately, as if each motion might alert the air to your intent. the building is silent. no neighbors, no distant traffic reaching you yet. it is a moment suspended, stretched taut.

you push the door open, stepping into the light outside. sunlight strikes with the same heavy insistence as it did through the curtains, but here it is different, less confined, more consuming. streets hum faintly, the distant pulse of life present but muted, as though the city itself holds its breath for what is coming. each step you take is deliberate, measured. pavements warm beneath your shoes, air thick with dust, faint exhaust, and that lingering hint of sun-baked asphalt.

the world shifts as you move, the city alive around you but strangely secondary, blurred at the edges. each step takes you closer, the distance shrinking, the space between your pulse and hers tightening with every stride. you are aware of nothing else, no passing cars, no chatter from nearby buildings, only the rhythm of your feet, your breath, the subtle sway of your body moving toward a place you cannot yet see fully, toward someone who already occupies it.

nobody's home, just me and you and you and me alone.

the thought twists pleasantly in your chest, dangerous and thrilling. the house waiting ahead, silent and still, is hers and hers alone. its walls will bear witness to the unsaid, to what lingers in the air between your motions, to the games that are set before you without announcement, without invitation, yet impossible to resist.

your pace slows, unconsciously careful, attuned to the subtle shifts of air and sound, aware of the weight of anticipation, aware of the inevitability of what waits behind that door. each step is deliberate, teasing, as if you are moving closer not just to the house but to the invisible line she has drawn for you, to the pull of something both playful and dangerous.

the street stretches on, sunlight hitting harder now, heat pressing down. the city seems to recede around you, irrelevant. the only motion, the only rhythm that matters, is the one carrying you forward, across sidewalks, past empty yards, toward her house, toward the quiet, waiting space that is hers and hers alone.

and with every step, the anticipation thickens, heavier than the afternoon sun, sharper than the warmth pressing against your skin. each heartbeat matches the rhythm of the unseen, unspoken game, the subtle danger woven into something as simple as walking to her, the way the world seems to hold its breath just for you.

the house is still. silent, suffocating, as if it has been holding its breath, waiting for your arrival. the front door opens without a sound, hinges moving smoothly, almost too easily. the hallway greets you in shadow, faint streaks of sunlight cutting through the blinds, casting narrow lines across the polished floor.

and then she is there.

Midari stands just beyond the threshold of the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe, the slant of her pale body relaxed but precise, effortless. her raven hair falls loosely, strands catching the light in faint, pale glimmers where the afternoon sun spills through the windows. each movement of her head sends another strand shifting, sliding softly across her cheek, across the curve of her neck.

she looks entirely at ease,

too at ease.

eyes sharp, calculating, yet with a softness only she allows for herself. something quiet hides there, buried beneath the glimmer of amusement, something watchful and patient. a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips, slow, deliberate, as though she had been waiting for this exact moment and is savoring it now that it has arrived.

“ Finally!... ”

she says it low, teasing, just above a whisper, yet it seems to settle into the room like smoke curling through still air. the sound fills the quiet space around you with surprising weight.

“ I was starting to think you weren’t going to come. ”

your chest tightens.

it is the first sound she has made all day, yet it carries everything you have been feeling— every vibration of the phone earlier, every lingering glance at the clock, every shadow of anticipation during your walk here, every heavy, sticky moment of sunlight pressing against your skin as you wondered what she might say when you finally arrived.

and now you know.

“ You came hah.. ” she adds, softer this time.

Midari pushes herself away from the doorframe, straightening slowly, like someone stretching after a long moment of patience. the faint creak of the floor beneath her step seems louder than it should be in the quiet house.

she steps fully into the room now, letting the door click softly behind her.

the sound is gentle, final.

the quiet between you seals with it. she does not rush, does not demand. she simply exists there, moving with slow confidence, and yet her presence alone pulls you forward, draws you inward like gravity— subtle, inescapable.

her gaze glides over you slowly. not a glance, not a greeting, a careful examination.

it starts at your face, studying the smallest flickers of expression there, before drifting lower, tracing the line of your shoulders, the way you stand, the faint tension in your hands. the look is playful, curious—

dangerous.

" Good, ” she murmurs. the word barely leaves her lips, yet it carries approval.

“ Do you want to play a game?... ”

Midari lets the words hang there for a second, like she’s tasting the idea in the air. a faint spark flickers in her eyes —amused, entertained, already halfway committed before anything has even begun.

then she exhales a soft laugh through her nose.

“ …forget it. We’re playing anyway. ”

the decision is made before you have the chance to react.

“ I’ve got a game for us… hide and seek. ”

the words slip out lightly, almost careless— like she’s offering something ordinary, something harmless. but the air changes anyway. subtle, immediate. your body catches up before your mind does, tension tightening in your chest at the name alone.

Midari tilts her head, watching you closely now, as if she’s more interested in you than the game itself.

“ But this isn’t the kind where I just walk around and find you. ”

she moves as she speaks, slow and unhurried, fingertips trailing along the edge of a nearby table— testing the space, owning it without effort.

“ No… that would be boring. ”

a faint pause.

then a small, knowing exhale.

“ Let’s make it a little more interesting than that. ”

the pause that follows isn’t empty— it’s intentional. heavy in a way that makes the air feel smaller, closer. your breathing starts to feel like something you should be aware of.

something sharp curls low in your stomach. quiet at first. then unmistakable. the kind of feeling that doesn’t ask permission before it settles under your ribs.

“ There are… consequences, ” she says at last, voice lowered just slightly, each word measured like she’s deciding how much to reveal— and how much to withhold.

“ If you get caught… ”

she doesn’t rush the ending, she doesn’t need to. the last word lands gently, but it doesn’t drift, it stays.

and in that stillness, nothing in you moves—not even the thought of it.

—

the air between you thickens slowly, sunlight catching on her hair, on the edges of the room, tracing the sharp line of her jaw, the tilt of her head, the faint shift of her shoulders as she leans lightly against the doorway again.

every detail feels intentional. deliberate. weighed out like she’s already decided how this ends, and is simply letting you arrive at it.

“ So, ” she adds, stepping away again, moving toward the center of the room at an unhurried pace.

each step is calm— measured. like she’s giving you space on purpose. space to think. space to hesitate. space to realize it won’t change anything.

“ You can try to hide. You can try to run. ”

her voice drifts back to you without her turning fully around, casual in tone but impossible to ignore.

“ But I’ll find you. ”

only then does she glance back over her shoulder— slow enough that it feels like the motion reaches you before her eyes do.

“ And when I do… ” a faint smile tugs at her lips. not quite soft. not quite sharp. something in between that makes it worse.

“ …You’ll have to deal with it. ”

the last words land lightly— but they don’t leave. they stay behind in the space between you.

your breath catches.

anticipation tangles with something darker, sharper, a thrill that claws beneath your skin. the warmth in the room seems to thicken, stickier now, pressing against you like humid air before a storm.

it feels as though the room itself is waiting. waiting for the first movement, the first step, the first mistake.

Midari watches you closely, her gaze steady and unwavering as she allows the silence to stretch. she does not rush the moment, she lets it grow. lets the tension coil tighter with each passing second, the quiet hum of the house pressing in around you both— still and patient, yet impossible to ignore.

“ Let me make this simple for you, doll face. ” the nickname lands in the air between you. heavy, pointed, playful. it is not meant to ask, not meant to invite a reply, it is a statement. a test. a pull.

you do not answer, you cannot. your voice feels swallowed by the thickness of the air, by the pull of her presence, by the anticipation curling low in your stomach like a quiet flame.

your body stiffens subtly, caught between wanting to speak and knowing instinctively that there is no safety in it.

Midari notices immediately. the sharp edge of her eyes narrows just enough to acknowledge it, the faintest flicker of satisfaction brushing across her expression.

she steps closer. unhurried. deliberate. the air seems to tighten around her movement, like the room is adjusting itself to make space for her without being asked.

her hand lifts.

fingers grazing along your jaw— light, almost absent at first— but intentional in the way it doesn’t quite leave. tracing the line of your chin like she’s testing a reaction more than offering a touch.

“ You understand, don’t you? ” she murmurs. low, steady, certain. there’s no real question in it, only expectation. only confirmation waiting to happen.

her touch lingers— just enough to blur the boundary between passing gesture and something more deliberate— before easing away at the exact moment it starts to feel like it might stay.

like she never intended to hold on.

just to remind you she could.

then she pulls back slightly.

her hand drifts away from your skin as though she were only allowing you a taste of something forbidden, a warning wrapped carefully in affection.

her eyes remain locked on yours. sharp, knowing. teasing, precise. as if the game has already begun—

even before it has a name. and you realize, even before the first move is made, that the game is not about winning or losing. it is about the pull, the chase. the slow dance between risk and thrill.

and Midari has already claimed the rules. claimed the space, claimed you. just by standing there.

and so you wait, because the moment you move— the game begins.

Midari steps back, just enough for you to move, her eyes still locked on yours, glinting with mischief and something darker. the shift is subtle, almost polite, yet the space she grants feels strangely deliberate, like a door opening not out of kindness but invitation.

“ Go on, ” she says softly, a whisper more than a command, her voice threading through the quiet air between you.

“ Show me where you’d hide.... let’s see how long you last. ” the words settle slowly, not rushed. not careless. each one placed with the kind of quiet amusement that makes the meaning behind them linger longer than they should.

Midari watches you closely as she speaks, head tilted ever so slightly, as if studying the smallest changes in your expression—the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the faint shift of your breathing, the tension gathering in your shoulders.

her lips curve faintly at the corners, a smile that never quite becomes gentle. the kind of smile that suggests she already knows something you do not.

“ What? ” she murmurs after a moment, her tone teasing now, light but edged with curiosity. “ Don’t tell me you’re scared already. ”

she lets out a quiet breath of laughter, the sound warm yet unmistakably sharp beneath its softness.

another step backward follows, slow and measured, giving you more room. the distance between you grows by only a small amount, yet it feels significant, like the moment before a race begins when the runner steps away from the line.

Midari folds her arms loosely across her chest, posture relaxed, though nothing about the way she looks at you could ever truly be called relaxed.

her gaze remains fixed, steady, patient.

“ I told you already, didn’t I? ” she continues, voice lowering again, playful but deliberate. “ You can try to hide… you can try to run… ”

her eyes narrow just slightly with amusement. “ But that’s what makes it fun. ”

sunlight glances across the room again, brushing softly over the floor between you both, stretching the shadows behind her. the faint glow catches in her dark hair, turning the edges of it almost silver where the light touches.

she looks completely at ease standing there, as though time itself has slowed just for her. as though she has all the patience in the world.

Midari shifts her weight onto one leg, the motion lazy, casual, but the gleam in her eyes sharpens when she notices you still haven’t moved.

“ Mm… ” she hums thoughtfully. her fingers lift to tap lightly against her arm, once, twice, like someone idly counting seconds.

“ You’re wasting your advantage already? ” the faintest smirk appears again.

“ I gave you the first move… don’t waste it. ” her voice lowers slightly, not softer—just quieter, more certain, like she’s already decided how this will end.

“ Not everyone gets that chance. ”

the room feels warmer suddenly, thicker somehow, the quiet of the house pressing gently around the two of you. somewhere outside, a faint breeze stirs the leaves against the window, their shadows shifting slowly across the walls.

Midari watches the moment stretch, watches you. waiting, always waiting. then she leans forward just slightly, lowering her voice again, the whisper sliding easily through the silence.

“ Go on… ” her smile deepens, barely there but unmistakable. “ Run. ”

—

the air in the house feels thicker now, heavier, wrapped in that same faint warmth and lingering smoke scent that always seems to cling to everything she touches. sunlight sneaks through blinds, striping the polished floors with narrow, sharp lines that cut across the shadowed spaces, hinting at corners and hiding places.

you move, slow at first, savoring the thrill of being observed, of being watched without touching, without warning. the hallway stretches before you, lined with muted colors, polished wood, the faint scent of leather and faintly burned incense lingering in corners. each step is deliberate, careful, soft, almost silent.

the living room opens to a chaotic order only she could maintain. low couches draped in blankets, pillows scattered at odd angles, half-finished games and cards lying in neat chaos. a faint glimmer catches your eye: a flat table, black steel, lined with small objects— guns, knives, gadgets, tools— all neatly arranged, every piece precise, deliberate. you take a breath, the air thick around them, and turn, not touching, not daring. the thrill curls low in your stomach.

your gaze drifts upward and you spot it: a bed, unmade, blankets tossed across the frame, the kind of careless luxury only someone like Midari could leave out without losing control. the fabrics are heavy but soft, warm. the way the sheets pool along the edges, the folds creating pockets of dark, hidden space… it calls to you.

you approach slowly, your heartbeat a muted drum in your chest. the warmth of the blankets seeps into your skin as you slide beneath them, careful not to disturb the folds too much. the scent of Midari lingers faintly here, fabric infused with presence and power. you tuck yourself in, curling low, pressing into the shadows, letting the soft weight of the blankets settle over you like a shield.

the bed, the blankets, the shadows, they embrace you, offer a fragile comfort— but you know it is temporary. her eyes flick toward every corner, every edge, tracing your movement before you even fully disappear beneath the covers. the thrill pulses low in your chest: she is letting you hide, and yet she controls the space entirely.

finally, you settle, pressing low into the blankets, curling into yourself, making as little movement as possible. the folds swallow your form, hiding you almost completely. you breathe slowly, each inhale careful, deliberate, tasting the warmth and faint scent of Midari’s world.

—

Midari’s footsteps land with quiet precision, each one measured and unhurried as she moves across the polished floor. her gaze sweeps the room— sharp, steady, unblinking— like she’s already reading every possible outcome. “ Ready or not… ” she murmurs, voice low and amused, “ Here I come. ”

We're just playing hide and seek...

your pulse spikes, adrenaline sharpening every sense. the bed, the blankets, the shadows, all of it now a fragile shield, every fold a line between being seen and being caught. the air is thick, warm, and heavy with anticipation. every breath feels amplified, every heartbeat a drum that seems to announce your hiding place.

the first step she takes is close, deliberate, careful. you freeze. your body presses deeper into the blankets, heart thundering. the faint scrape of her feet across the floor, the quiet click of nails against the hardwood, it all presses against you. she pauses. a small chuckle drifts through the room.

" I think I hear something… " she murmurs, tilting her head, grin spreading. " Is that… you? "

you do not answer, you cannot. your throat feels tight, trapped beneath the weight of her gaze. your hand twitches against the sheet.

a shadow moves across the room, slow, deliberate, impossible to ignore. she drifts closer to the bed, the air itself tightening, folding around her. you almost, almost, exhale, almost betray yourself, but the blanket presses back against your skin, reminding you to stay small, stay unseen.

Midari pauses again, her fingers tracing along a table edge she passes, purple nails brushing the smooth surface in faint clicks. “ Hiding, huh? You think you can outsmart me, doll face? ” her voice drips with amusement, dangerous and slow. she does not need to see you fully, her presence alone is enough to make your skin prickle, to make the thrill coil in your stomach low and sharp.

she glides past, slow, circling, eyes scanning corners, scanning shadows, scanning the subtle shifts of air that might betray your hiding spot. your chest rises, careful, shallow breaths. each inhale feels like a confession, each exhale a gamble.

a strand of her hair brushes a blanket corner as she passes. you freeze. your body feels electric, every nerve alert. her soft chuckle trails in the air behind her. “ Close, ” she murmurs, almost to herself, almost mockingly. “ too close. ”

she steps back, circling again, deliberately slow this time, fingers brushing surfaces, tapping edges lightly, just enough to unsettle the air around you. each movement lingers just long enough to make you aware— you’re not really hiding from her.

" Oooh… " she sighs softly, low, teasing. " You smell like trouble… do you think hiding is enough? Do you… really? " her eyes narrow, scanning, calculating. " I can hear you breathing, you know. "

your heart hammers, a frantic rhythm that seems to call her attention, yet she moves on, teasing, deliberate, circling again. she pauses at the far corner, just out of reach, and tilts her head. “ Hmm… maybe you’ve learned something, ” she murmurs, almost disappointed, almost pleased. “ but don’t think you’re safe yet. ”

and then, almost imperceptibly, a hand drifts closer to the blankets, fingernails brushing the folds where you hide. a tease. a promise. a silent warning.

she steps back, letting the suspense coil tighter, her gaze sweeping over the room slowly, deliberately, a predator satisfied by the hunt, yet savoring every second.

you remain hidden. barely. breath shallow, pulse wild, adrenaline and anticipation tangling low in your chest.

Midari drifts toward the far corner of the room, slow, deliberate, each step measured, leaving space between you that makes your chest tighten. the faint scrape of her feet against the polished floor fades, then stops. silence stretches long, heavy, pressing against your skin like the blankets themselves have weight. your pulse races. your breath hitches low and shallow, trapped between excitement and fear.

you peek slightly from beneath the folds, just enough to catch her silhouette. she is motionless, calm, distant, or at least pretending to be. the faint tilt of her head, the way her hair drapes lazily across one shoulder, the casual placement of her hands, all scream serenity. all lie.

a small, almost inaudible sigh drifts from her, soft and deliberate, carrying across the space between you like a whisper of wind. “ You think you’re safe, ” her voice floats faintly, teasing, not from where she stands, but from everywhere all at once. “ don’t you? ”

your heart hammers. your chest tightens. your lungs pull in air too fast, shallow, desperate. the blankets cling to your skin, heavy and hot. you gulp, almost daring yourself to move, almost daring her to notice.

she waits. long enough to make you wonder if she truly went away, long enough for your thoughts to scramble, your body to betray itself. the room feels smaller, tighter, alive with anticipation. every particle of dust in the sunbeams trembles faintly, echoing the rhythm of your pulse.

then, almost imperceptibly, a shadow drifts across the floor behind you, just at the corner of your eye. a shift, a sound, a movement that makes your stomach twist low and sharp. your breath catches. you freeze entirely.

“ Hmm…” Midari hums softly, mock contemplative, stepping slowly back into view. her eyes glint with amusement and something darker, sharper. “ I almost thought you’d have slipped away... almost thought i’d have to look harder. ”

you exhale sharply, nearly audibly, the blankets rustling slightly beneath you. panic and thrill coil together low in your stomach. your fingers clutch the folds, gripping, holding yourself small.

“ But no… ” she murmurs, circling again, voice light but sharp with amusement. “ You can’t hide forever. ” her head tilts slightly, eyes scanning like she’s already bored of how easy this is. “ Don’t make it boring… I’ll catch you anyway. ”

her footsteps return, faint taps across the floor, slow and teasing, drawing nearer, then retreating again. the game of distance she plays is maddening, close enough to remind you of her presence, far enough to make you gasping, trembling under the weight of anticipation.

your lungs burn slightly from shallow, frantic breaths, the adrenaline twisting low and sharp in your chest. each inhale tastes of warmth and fear and excitement, each exhale a confession you cannot voice.

and she notices. the smirk that tugs at the corner of her lips grows slightly, sharp, teasing, as if savoring the control she holds over your chest, over your thoughts, over every little twitch of your body.

and in that moment, frozen beneath the blankets, gasping, heart hammering, you realize: she is not just seeking you. she is playing with you. mind, body, anticipation, every sense tuned to the thrill of the hunt, every detail calibrated to make you burn just a little hotter, a little faster.

and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Midari’s footsteps circle again, slow, deliberate, teasing. she pauses suddenly, mid-step, tilting her head as though listening, not for you, but for something more, something absent yet painfully obvious.

her eyes narrow, sharp, glinting with amusement and a faint edge of mock irritation.

“ Hmm… ” she murmurs, voice low, rolling across the room like distant thunder. “ So quiet, aren’t you?... not a word.... not a peep... ”

she takes another step, then another. the faint scrape of her feet against the polished floor sends a shiver straight down your spine.

“ I can hear your little heart racing… every shallow breath… ” she continues lazily, fingers dragging along the edge of a nearby table. the faint clicking of her purple nails against the surface echoes softly in the quiet house.

tap.

tap.

tap.

each sound lands directly in your chest.

“ But no voice... not a sound. ” she exhales slowly, almost dramatically.

“ Do you know how frustrating that is? ” another step brings her closer to the bed again, though not directly toward you.

instead she drifts past it, circling, her gaze sweeping lazily across the room as if she’s giving up. as if she’s bored, as if she hasn’t already mapped every corner of the space in her mind.

she murmurs, almost exhaling a laugh. “ How quiet you’ve been… it’s getting boring. ”

her fingers brush along the back of a chair as she passes, nails grazing the wood with a faint scratch.

your breath catches.

she pauses.

for a split second, the silence stretches tight.

then she chuckles.

your stomach drops.

Midari tilts her head slowly, listening again. “ You’re trying so hard to stay quiet… ” she hums softly, amused.

she drifts closer to the bed once more, footsteps slow, deliberate, almost lazy now.

your lungs burn, you try not to breathe too deeply. the blankets cling to your skin, warm and heavy, trapping every tiny movement you make.

Midari stops near the foot of the bed. the mattress creaks faintly as she leans one hand against it.

your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

“ I want to hear it, doll face. ” she murmurs softly.

her fingers slide slowly along the blanket near your feet, tracing the folds without lifting them.

“ one little whisper… one tiny squeak.... ”

her purple nail hooks lightly into the fabric for a second before letting it fall again.

a tease, a test.

the air feels electric, your body refuses to move.

Midari hums again, almost thoughtful.

then—

suddenly,

she moves.

fast— but not reckless. calculated, precise. her hand brushes the edge of the blanket where you hide, fingers grazing your skin, electric, teasing. her body looms closer, almost impossibly close, enough for the warmth of her presence to press against you, to curve around the edges of your hiding spot.

“ Gotcha! ”

your heart stops.

but her hand lifts empty.

her eyes flick over the blankets, scanning, sharp and deliberate, lingering on the faint rise of your chest beneath the fabric. she huffs softly, the sound low, almost theatrical— a mixture of amusement, frustration, and something darker, sharper.

“ Hmm… ” she murmurs, tilting her head, letting her gaze trace the edge of the hiding spot.

“ I almost had you... almost. ” her voice is soft, teasing, playful, but there’s a flicker of mock disappointment there, deliberate. a performance, meant to twist low in your chest.

“ I reached out… and you slipped away. Just barely. ” she hums, a faint smile in her voice. “ Clever… or just lucky?.. ”

she steps closer, deliberate, slow, the warmth of her body pressing the air around you. every inch she closes tightens the tension like a wire wound too high, electric and teasing. the faintest brush of her fingertips grazes the blanket near you, enough to make your heart stutter, your breath hitch low and sharp.

the words are low, barely more than a breath, but they land with sharp intent. she leans in close enough that her presence alone fills the space beside your ear, her voice slipping in like a quiet taunt. there’s a faint edge of amusement in her eyes, watching for even the smallest reaction, like she’s already counting it. “ Don’t move… ” she murmurs, light and teasing. “ I like it better when you stay like this. ”

you can feel the precise edge of her body pressing close enough to make your pulse stutter. the blankets press around you both, wrapping in a cocoon of tension, warmth, anticipation. her hand traces along the sheet beside you, deliberate, teasing, reminding you that the line between safe and caught is thinner than the fabric separating you.

“ So quiet… ” she hums, almost bored by how still you are. “ But now you’re right where I want you. ” her eyes narrow slightly. “ Almost trembling… almost slipping up… almost making this interesting. Come on… don’t stop there. ”

a quiet breath of laughter escapes her.

her breath drifts across your skin, the faintest touch of teeth against a strand of hair, a tease, a warning, an invitation all at once. the air itself feels electric, charged with the thrill of the hunt, her dominance, your hiding, your racing pulse.

and she lingers there, impossibly close, letting the anticipation twist low and sharp in your chest, savoring every second before she steps back— just enough to make you feel the space, then drawing it tighter again, a dance of chase and tease, mind and body, danger and thrill.

then—

just slightly—

she pulls back.

only a few inches, only enough to make the air feel colder without her there.

her fingers continue tracing lazy patterns along the blanket beside you.

patient, teasing, savoring.

because the hunt is not over, not yet.

and the way your heart is racing beneath the covers tells her exactly how much longer she can make it last.

the room slowly falls quiet.

Midari’s footsteps fade, soft against the polished floor… then stop entirely.

no tapping. no teasing breath. no movement.

only silence.

for a moment, it feels like she’s gone— like she’s stepped away, circling elsewhere in the house, leaving space just big enough for your lungs to finally try and expand again.

the blankets feel heavier in the stillness.

your heartbeat doesn’t slow, but it stops screaming quite as loudly.

…maybe she really moved.

maybe—

“ Found you. ”

right beside your ear.

the blanket shifts too much, a faint movement, and Midari is there, impossibly fast, impossibly close, pressing against you before your pulse even registers the danger. the weight of her body atop yours is immediate, soft yet firm, a controlled force that pins you into the folds of the bed. the heat radiating from her presses against your skin, mixing with your own shallow, frantic breaths.

her hands settle beside your shoulders, careful, teasing, deliberate. her fingers graze lightly, tracing lines, marking the space, asserting her presence without violence. she tilts her head, hair brushing your cheek, eyes glinting with that sharp, teasing amusement you’ve learned to recognize.

“ There you are… ” she murmurs, voice low, almost amused. “ I was starting to think you’d actually gotten away from me. ” her eyes sharpen slightly, entertained. “ Don’t get comfortable. ”

she leans closer, and her lips brush against your forehead, teasing, deliberate. your chest rises, your breath catching. she smiles against your skin, teeth grazing lightly over your jaw, a whisper of her presence, a tease you can feel down to your core.

“ Did you miss me? ” she murmurs, voice low with amusement. “ I was starting to think you’d gotten bored of the game. ”

Midari remains above you, her weight settling just enough to keep you pinned beneath her without effort. for a moment she says nothing. her gaze drifts over your face slowly, thoughtful, until it lowers to the side of your throat.

“ …Oh? ” her head tilts slightly.

two fingers slide to the side of your neck, light but deliberate. she presses them there, and pauses— feeling the rapid pulse jumping beneath your skin.

Midari goes quiet, the corner of her mouth lifts with sudden interest.

“ …That’s fast. ” her thumb shifts, pressing lightly again as if confirming it. the rhythm beneath her touch doesn’t slow.

curiosity sparks in her eyes.

without warning, she leans closer. slowly. her face dips toward the exact spot beneath her fingers, her breath brushing warm across your neck. for a moment she just hovers there, studying the place where your pulse beats wildly beneath the surface.

then, almost experimentally, her lips press against it.

the kiss lingers only for a second— just long enough for her to feel the frantic rhythm beneath her mouth.

your breath catches.

“ Mi—Midari— ”

the name barely forms before a sudden laugh bursts from her.

it’s quick. bright. almost delighted. she lifts her head slightly, shoulders shaking once with the sound as her fingers remain pressed lightly against the side of your neck.

Midari’s thumb lingers against the spot on your neck for another second, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath it.

“ …It got faster. ” the amusement in her voice doesn’t fade.

instead, she leans a little closer again, curiosity still written plainly across her face. the blankets shift softly with the movement, trapping the warmth between you both. the space beneath you feels tighter now, the air heavier.

her hair brushes lightly across your cheek as she dips her head again, close enough that your breath catches before you can stop it.

Midari notices.

a quiet hum escapes her, thoughtful, entertained. her fingers slide slightly along the side of your throat, tracing the line there before settling again near the racing pulse.

for a moment she just watches you.

then her grin returns— slow, sharp, delighted.

“ …You’re terrible at hiding things. ”

the blankets rustle again as she shifts her weight, settling closer without really asking permission. the movement presses the space between you smaller, warmer, harder to ignore.

Its getting hard to breathe under the sheets with you..

Midari doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.

if anything, she looks entertained.

her hand drifts lazily from your neck to the fabric beside your shoulder, fingers brushing the sheets as though she’s considering her next move.

“ …This is more fun than chasing you. ” her voice lowers slightly, playful, almost thoughtful.

and she doesn’t pull away.

Midari’s grin widens, eyes bright with that restless, dangerous excitement that always looks like it’s one second away from turning into something worse.

“ Hard to breathe? ” she echoes, letting out a short, breathy laugh like she finds the whole situation genuinely entertaining. “ Yeah… I get it. ”

her fingers linger near your skin for a second longer than necessary, like she’s still testing something she doesn’t fully understand yet— then she shifts closer without warning, too fast to properly think about.

not gentle. not careful.

just impulsive.

the movement knocks the space out between you, the sheets tightening around both of you as everything suddenly feels smaller, hotter, louder.

Midari doesn’t hesitate. her mouth meets yours in a messy, sudden collision— more instinct than plan. it’s uncoordinated, slightly off-angle, like she didn’t bother to think about doing it right, only about doing it now.

there’s a brief, electric moment where everything just hits at once— her breath, your reaction, the heat trapped under the sheets.

and then—

the faint, unmistakable metallic click of her tongue piercing against you, quick and accidental, like she’s just as surprised by the intensity of it as she is amused.

a quiet, breathy laugh slips from her mid-contact.

her hand grabs at the sheets beside you, not to control anything, but to steady herself in the moment she clearly didn’t think through.

“ …Huh. ”

for a brief moment Midari just stares at you. not embarrassed, not apologetic. just… intrigued. her eyes flick across your face quickly, catching every little reaction like she’s collecting evidence.

and then— she bursts out laughing. not a polite laugh, not quiet. a sharp, delighted sound that spills out of her like she just witnessed something incredibly entertaining.

“ Did you see your face?! ” she gasps between laughs, shoulders shaking slightly. “ Wow… that was actually kind of amazing. ”

she presses the back of her hand over her mouth for a second, trying— and failing—to contain another burst of laughter.

“ I barely even did anything and you look like your brain just short-circuited. ” her grin widens again, wicked and bright.

“ Relax, sugar. ” she adds, voice still bubbling with amusement. “ You’re acting like something insane just happened. ”

Midari tilts her head slightly, studying you again with that same sharp curiosity.

“ …Although, ” she muses aloud, tapping a finger lightly against her own lip like she’s thinking, “ your heart’s still going crazy. ”

another laugh escapes her.

“ That’s hilarious. ” she leans back just a little, still grinning, clearly enjoying the chaos she just caused.

“ Seriously… you should see yourself right now! ”

Midari laughs once more. it’s that jagged, breathless sound that always feels like it’s vibrating right against your ribs.

​then—

​the laughter doesn’t stop, but it changes. it rounds off into a hum, and her expression shifts.

she gets an idea.

​it’s visible in the way her gaze locks onto yours, turning sharp and dangerously focused. the playful amusement is still there, but it’s suddenly backed by that familiar, reckless hunger for a real spark.

​“ Hey. ”

​she leans in again, her weight shifting on the mattress, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that makes the air between you feel even thinner. a slow, lopsided grin pulls at her lips.

“ What if we made this interesting again? A game. Just us. Something that actually has consequences. ”

​she tilts her head, her tongue poking out to dampen her lip as she watches for your reaction, her eyes glinting with a dangerous kind of excitement.

​“ Russian Roulette. ”

“ …What..? ”

Midari blinks once. then she exhales a short laugh through her nose, like the tension never meant anything to begin with.

“ Relax, ” she says, voice lighter now, almost playful. “ I’m just joking. ”

her fingers move near you for a second longer than necessary.

then she tilts her head slightly, eyes glinting with quiet amusement as they flick back to your reaction.

“ …Yeah, ” she adds, voice softer but sharper in intent, “ Your pulse definitely just jumped again. ”

“ …You’re still thinking about it, ” she says suddenly, almost amused, like she’s caught you doing something obvious.

her fingers shift slightly near you again, not quite touching in any meaningful way—just enough to keep you aware of her presence.

she leans in. slow this time, deliberate. close enough that the space between you tightens again, like the room forgets how to breathe properly.

her gaze flicks down for a second— your reaction, your expression, the smallest hesitation— then back to your eyes.

“ …Hah. ” a short laugh slips out of her, soft but sharp at the edges. “ You really are easy to read. ”

Midari still doesn’t pull away. instead, she sinks further into the heat of the blankets, her body a restless weight that refuses to let the moment settle. her hand moves with a sudden, jerky sort of grace, fingers sliding from the sheets to the back of your neck, pulling you just that fraction of an inch closer until the tip of her nose brushes yours. the air is thick, smelling of skin and the sharp, manic electricity she carries like a physical scent.

​“ Let’s try a different game, ” she murmurs, her voice losing its jagged edge and turning into something low and dangerously focused.

I don't wanna play no games..

​she doesn't wait for a response. she shifts again, her weight settling more firmly against you as she narrows the space until there’s nowhere left for the heat to escape. she leans in, her breath ghosting over your skin, as she prepares to dive headfirst into the chaos she’s created.

​the air under the sheets grows heavy, stifling and electric, as she moves with a sudden, renewed energy that knows no floor and no ceiling.

and then— just as quickly— it begins to blur.

the pressure, the closeness, the heat of the moment doesn’t vanish, but it fades into something distant, like it’s being sealed away behind layers of silence.

outside the room, the night carries on without permission.

a soft wind drifts past the window, brushing against the glass in slow, wandering patterns. it’s calm, almost indifferent, as if it has no idea what just happened inside.

the curtains shift slightly with each passing breeze, lifting and falling in a lazy rhythm.

above it all, the moon hangs low. bright, quiet, unbothered—casting pale silver light across the room in soft fragments. It spills through the gaps in the curtains, painting faint shapes across the floor, across the bed, across everything that was just too close a moment ago.

the world outside doesn’t rush. it doesn’t react. It just continues.

and somewhere in that stillness, the night settles deeper— like it’s pretending nothing ever changed at all.

—

the room still feels warm. not from heat anymore— just from memory.

from something that lingers in the fabric of the air, stubborn and invisible, like it refuses to admit it’s over.

outside, night has fully settled in. the world beyond the window is quiet in that deep, uninterrupted way that only happens when everything is asleep or pretending to be. a soft wind moves through the trees, slow and uncertain, brushing against the glass like it’s trying not to disturb anything inside.

moonlight spills across the room in pale fragments. it catches on the edges of the bed, stretches thin over the floor, and pools in corners where shadows don’t quite reach. everything feels half-lit— like the room itself can’t decide whether to stay awake or disappear.

and then—

silence changes. not outside, inside you.

she’s gone.

Midari left earlier without much explanation, like it didn’t matter enough to define. just a shift in energy, a door opening, then closing again somewhere deeper in the house. no words that mattered, no lingering goodbye that meant anything you could hold onto.

now there’s only you. still.

and the weight of everything she left behind.

your fingers curl slightly into the blanket, but it doesn’t help. it never really does. the quiet only makes thoughts louder.

I'm tired of always chasing, chasing after you...

the words don’t belong to the room, but they echo anyway.

soft. unwanted. honest in a way that hurts more than anything she ever said out loud.

you exhale slowly, like you’re trying to push something out of your chest that doesn’t want to leave.

it’s frustrating, isn’t it?

how easy it is to let her take up all the space. how you always end up where she leaves you— waiting, reacting, adjusting, never quite catching up.

the moon shifts slightly as clouds pass over it, dimming the light for a moment before letting it return. even that feels indifferent. like it doesn’t care who stays or who leaves.

you pull the blanket closer, not for warmth, but for something to hold onto. but it doesn’t fix the hollow feeling settling in your ribs.

and somewhere in the distance of the house, life continues without you for a moment too long.

quiet, unbothered. like nothing at all was supposed to change.

you stare up at the ceiling for a long moment.

breathing in,

breathing out.

trying to steady something that doesn’t want to settle.

it’s stupid, really.

the way your mind keeps circling back to her, like it refuses to let the moment end cleanly. like it keeps replaying every look, every word, every tiny shift in her voice as if there’s some hidden meaning buried somewhere you just haven’t uncovered yet.

you think to yourself;

I don't give a fuck about you anyways.

Whoever said I gave a shit 'bout you?

the sentence hangs there, thin and brittle in the quiet.

for a second you almost believe it. almost.

your fingers tighten slightly against the blanket, the fabric wrinkling beneath your grip as your thoughts turn sharper, meaner—directed inward now.

because if you didn’t care… you wouldn’t still be lying here thinking about her.

a bitter laugh escapes you, small and humorless.

you roll onto your side, facing the faint glow of the window, watching the moon disappear behind a drifting cloud before slowly reappearing again.

“ Yeah, ” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

your gaze drifts toward the door she left through earlier.

You never share your toys or communicate,

I guess I'm just a playdate to you.

—

morning arrives slowly.

not with noise, not with movement— just with light.

a thin beam of pale sunlight slips through the curtains, stretching across the floor and climbing lazily toward the bed. dust drifts in the air, turning slowly in the quiet, like the whole room is still deciding whether it wants to wake up yet.

your eyes open reluctantly.

for a moment, everything feels distant. soft, unclear.

then awareness settles back into place.

Midari's room.

and the faint, rhythmic sound of something mechanical clicking somewhere nearby.

you shift slightly under the blankets, the sheets still warm from sleep, and turn your head.

Midari is there. not looking at you, not noticing you.

she’s sitting on the floor beside the bed, legs loosely folded, completely absorbed in something in front of her. the faint glow of a screen flickers against her face, changing with every movement of whatever game she’s playing. headphones cover her ears, sealing her inside her own small world of noise and flashing light.

she doesn’t even glance back.

for a few seconds you just watch her.

the quiet stretches awkwardly, your throat feels dry.

“ Midari…? ” you try, voice still rough from sleep.

nothing.

her fingers move quickly, focused, tapping or pressing something you can’t quite see from the bed. her expression shifts with concentration— brows narrowing slightly, mouth pulling into a crooked grin when something clearly goes her way.

you push yourself up a little, leaning against the headboard.

“ Hey. ”

still nothing.

the game sounds faint through the headphones— barely audible bursts of noise escaping into the room. enough to explain why she hasn’t heard you at all.

you exhale slowly.

Wake up in your bedroom and there's nothing left to say.

the thought drifts through your mind without warning.

your eyes linger on her back for a moment longer before you try again, a little louder this time.

“ Midari. ”

she tilts her head slightly—

but not toward you.

just adjusting the headphones. still playing.

When I try to talk, you're always playing board games.

the words settle quietly in your chest as the morning light grows a little brighter, and the sound of her game continues like the room only belongs to one of you.

for a moment, you almost speak again.

then you stop.

a quiet thought slips through instead—

I wish I had monopoly over your mind.

your gaze lingers on her back, the way she leans forward with focus, like nothing else in the room exists.

I wish I didn’t care all the time.

Midari doesn’t look up.

the faint sounds from her headphones leak into the quiet room— soft bursts of noise, little flashes of victory or loss that only seem to matter to her. her attention stays fixed forward, completely absorbed, like the rest of the world has been turned down to nothing.

you watch her for a moment longer, waiting.

just in case she glances back.

she doesn’t.

something in your chest sinks again, slow and heavy, like it’s settling into a place it’s already been too many times before.

you look away first.

your gaze drifts to the window, to the pale morning light spilling across the floor, trying to focus on anything that isn’t her sitting just a few feet away.

I don’t give a fuck about you anyway,

Whoever said I gave a shit about you?

you shift under the blanket, pulling it tighter around yourself as if that could hide the sting crawling up your throat.

your eyes flick back toward her without meaning to.

still playing, still silent.

a bitter thought slips through before you can stop it.

You never share your toys or communicate,

your jaw tightens slightly.

I guess I’m just a playdate to you.

—

the living room feels larger than usual.

morning light filters through the windows in thin, pale streaks, stretching across the floor and touching the edges of the furniture like hesitant fingers. the air is quiet except for the faint rustle of movement near the doorway.

Midari stands there.

she moves in slow motion near the door, each step deliberate, calculated, as though the world itself has slowed just for her. her hair catches the light at the edges, a halo of pale gold and shadow, and even from across the room, from where you kneel, it is impossible not to notice the way she commands every corner of the space without effort. she is not looking at you. she is not acknowledging you. and that is the cruelest tease of all.

you linger a few steps behind her. close enough that reaching out would be easy, close enough that saying something should be simple.

but neither happens.

your fingers twitch slightly at your side, the instinct to stop her rising and fading in the same breath.

Ring around the Rosie...

the thought drifts through your mind like a slow, looping echo.

I never know… I never know what you need.

Midari shifts her weight slightly near the door, distracted by something outside, by the open world waiting for her attention.

she doesn’t turn around.

you watch her instead.

trying to read something in the angle of her shoulders, the way she stands, the pause before she leaves.

trying to guess what would make her stay.

Ring around the Rosie...

the words repeat softly in your head.

I wanna give you… wanna give you... what you need.

but you don’t know what that is.

and she never tells you.

You know I give a fuck about you everyday...

your chest tightens. heart hammers. your hands press into the floorboards as if you could anchor yourself, as if holding still could stop the pull in your stomach, the coil of want and shame that curls low and taut. every fiber of you is screaming at you, at her, at the truth that you’ve spent all seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, denying.

Guess it's time that I tell you the truth...

If I share my toys, will you let me stay?

if you share everything you feel—everything you’ve been hiding, everything you’ve been denying— will she even care? will she stop walking? will she turn back?

you press a hand to your chest, fingers splayed, feeling the frantic pulse beneath your palm.

your stomach coils with longing and fear, with the shame of knowing how easy it is to fall under her control, how willingly you’ve let yourself be pulled into her orbit.

and yet, even as the truth presses unbearably against your mind, the ache in your chest, the warmth pooling low in your stomach, the sharp twist of guilt—you know you can’t turn back. you don’t want to.

the words feel like confession and surrender all at once, raw and hot and impossible to undo. and though she has not heard a thing, though she has not turned, though she is just Midari walking in slow motion, she has already won.

because this is not about her noticing. this is not about a game she is playing. it is about the fact that you’ve finally admitted it. finally felt it. finally let yourself know that she has you completely—heart, mind, body—and there is no going back.

and so you kneel there, chest tight, pulse racing, breath uneven, hands trembling slightly against the floor. your eyes follow her slow retreat, memorizing, worshipping, aching, realizing that she has always been this untouchable, teasing, dangerous, perfect force in your life—and that you would let her have it all.

and you wouldn’t run. you wouldn’t hide. you wouldn’t deny it any longer.

Midari lingers in the doorway for a moment longer. just long enough that it almost feels deliberate.

morning light pours in behind her, turning her into a silhouette edged in gold, the rest of the world waiting patiently on the other side of the threshold. for a heartbeat, the moment hangs there—thin, fragile, like it could still bend in another direction.

but it doesn’t.

she steps forward,

outside.

the movement is easy, careless, like leaving was never something she had to think about.

the door begins to close. slowly. the space between you narrows inch by inch, the light shrinking with it, until the last glimpse of her disappears beyond the frame.

then—

click.

the sound settles through the living room like the final note of something unfinished. you’re still standing where you were, still facing the door. like if you stay there long enough, it might open again.

but the house only grows quieter, the morning light shifting across the floor while the space she left behind slowly, stubbornly fills with silence.

Dont wanna leave this playdate with you.

© 2026 by lycheepetals. all rights reserved.

this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters, musics, animes depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.

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