Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From the very beginning, Kira had known what Yumeko Kawamoto was: a storm given human shape, chaos in the form of a teenage girl. 

She had torn into St. Dominic’s like a spark thrown into dry kindling, and everyone else had prayed for the fire to be smothered. But fire never bows to prayer, and chaos never surrenders to order.

Her blouse hung loose, buttons undone until the rules themselves seemed indecent. Her skirt was scandalously short, altered without shame. The ribbon around her collar was never tied properly, if she even had it on. And her blazer gathered dust somewhere, certainly not on her shoulders. 

Kira could never look at her without feeling the split between them widen. She lived in starched perfection: every pleat straight, every ribbon tied with exact symmetry, her very posture an advertisement of control. Order made flesh. Groomed to lead, to silence, to inherit.

Kira should have crushed her. Everyone expected her to. She didn’t. 

And maybe that was the first mistake.

It wasn’t as though Kira hadn’t tried. She had. Tremendously.

Every trick in the council’s arsenal was turned against Yumeko. Challenges stacked like mountains, traps laid in silence, predators unleashed in neat uniforms and sharper smiles. And yet, every time, Yumeko walked away grinning, her pockets heavier, her chaos louder. Too good, people whispered. Or maybe she was cheating. But if she was, no one had ever caught her — and Kira had watched, waiting for the slip that never came.

Yumeko herself only laughed at the accusation. 

So Kira escalated. She sent her council members. One by one, they fell. Even Dori, the only one who had managed to beat Yumeko once. Victory should have been enough, but Dori was too proud, too wild. She accepted a rematch. And lost.

That was the pattern: no matter how carefully Kira tightened her net, Yumeko slipped through it, laughing as the strands snapped behind her. Kira could not crush her — not for lack of trying, but because Yumeko refused to be broken.

Well…

Kira actually had one pretty great chance.

The House Pet Hunt.

She had ordered her council to finish Yumeko, and by all rights, they should have. There were no rules against it but none of them had the chance. Suki managed to wound her, but left her bleeding in the dirt because of a broken nail. 

A broken nail. 

Kira had wanted to put an arrow through his smug face for that idiocy.

So she had gone herself.

From the council office, she had watched through the cameras — Yumeko limping, cuffed to Ryan, the most uncoordinated owner in the history of the Hunt. Pathetic.

They should have been easy prey.

So Kira took her bow and went into the woods.

She had the shot. The perfect one. Bloodied, slowed, exposed — Yumeko could not have escaped her. The arrow left her fingers, fast, precise — only to bury itself harmlessly in the bark inches from Yumeko’s shoulder.

She nocked another. Fired. Missed. Again.

And again.

Four arrows in total, each one slicing past skin that should have been pierced, each one betraying her hand.

It was stupid. Unforgivable. Kira could have ended it all then and there. Ended the chaos. Ended Yumeko. But she hadn’t. And she could not explain why.

Her heart thundered with something that wasn’t fear, wasn’t mercy — something she didn’t want to name.

And then Riri appeared, silent as always, intercepting her before she could fire the fifth. A mercy of its own. Because Kira knew what people would say if she kept chasing, kept shooting, and still could not kill Yumeko.

Later that night, when the woods had fallen silent and the hunt was over, Kira sat alone in the council office with only Riri for company. The cameras were blank now, monitors humming softly in the dark.

Riri rarely ever spoke. Her presence was a question in itself. But this time, she tilted her head, eyes steady over the mask, and finally opened her mouth to say what had been bothering her.

“Why didn’t you kill her?”

Kira didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. She had spent years learning how to school her expression into glass. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her voice cool and effortless.

“I’m out of practice.” She said. A half-smile, practiced and sharp, like the lie it was. “That’s all.”

Riri’s gaze lingered on her, skeptical. An eyebrow lifted, just slightly. But she didn’t press. 

She never pressed. That was the beauty of Riri’s loyalty.

When the silence returned, it was worse than the question.

Because Kira knew, better than anyone, that her hands had not missed out of weakness. They had missed because somewhere deep inside, she hadn’t wanted them to land.

When Riri left, the office felt too large, too empty. Kira leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling as if the plaster could hold an answer.

Why hadn’t I killed her?

The question circled like a vulture, never landing, just waiting. It made no sense. She had wanted Yumeko gone. Needed her gone. Every fiber of her life, every obligation to her father, to the council, demanded it. Yumeko was chaos, danger, humiliation made flesh.

Kira had drawn the bow, aimed, breathed, released — everything she had been trained to do.

And yet, four arrows had flown wide.

She tried to rationalize it. The trees had shifted. The air had been damp. Her arm had trembled from disuse. Excuses stacked neatly in her mind like cards, all ready to topple if touched too hard.

Kira pressed her palms flat against the desk, grounding herself in the cool wood. No. She would not dwell. There was no point. The miss was nothing. She had been careless, nothing more. She would be sharper next time.

She told herself this again and again, until the words lost meaning and became a lull, a hum, a thin thread pulling her toward sleep.

And she let it go. At least, she told herself she had.

But letting go was never permanent. Not when a chance came again.

On the retreat, fate put the knife back in her hand. The poisoned kiss, the game that had ended with neither of them winning. Two lives balanced on one vial. Mary had pressed it into Kira’s palm first.

And in that instant, it could have ended. Kira could have lifted it to her lips, drained it to the bottom, and watched Yumeko collapse. No more storm. No more chaos. No more question gnawing in the dark hours of the night.

But she didn’t.

She drank half. Then she handed the rest to Yumeko.

As if they were equals. As if her life, her family, her future, were not worth more than Yumeko.

It had been easier to tell herself she had missed in the woods, easier to blame trembling hands or the damp air. But there, with glass and poison in her grip, no excuse would hold. Kira had chosen.

And since that moment, she could think of nothing else.

How is it, she asked herself, that she never chose to kill Yumeko — when chance after chance was given to her?

Why was it, when every part of her was raised to cut weakness out at the root, she had spared the one person who threatened to unravel her completely?

Here, in her family’s summer house, she should have been resting. The retreat was over, the school term behind her. This place, tucked away from St. Dominic’s suffocating corridors, was meant to be a reprieve.

She should have been thinking of her father instead. Of Arkadi, who never truly looked at her except through the shadow of Riri. Always Riri. No matter how flawlessly Kira led, no matter how perfectly she wore the mask, his gaze lingered elsewhere. And here, in these quiet halls, she had resolved to sharpen her edge, to make herself undeniable. To make him prefer her at last.

She should have been doing all of that.

Instead, her mind wandered back — again and again — to Yumeko. The missed arrows, the half-shared antidote, the choices she could never explain. Kira had been ready, just moments ago, to cast it aside, to throw those thoughts out the window.

And then the door opened.

And in walked the subject of her unrest.

Yumeko Jabami.

Not Kawamoto — the name she had hidden behind. Jabami, the truth Kira now knew.

The girl who should have been a corpse twice over. The girl Kira had failed to kill.

The girl she could not seem to stop thinking about.

Kira rose from her chair, each step measured, deliberate. She crossed the polished floor as though she were approaching an intruder, though the real intrusion was already clawing at her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was calm, clipped, every syllable honed.

Yumeko tilted her head, dark eyes bright with mischief. “Your father invited me, remember?” She said, lips curving into that same flirty smile that made everything sound like a dare.

Kira’s composure faltered, but inside, something twisted. She found herself struggling to meet Yumeko’s gaze, not because it was sharp, but because her eyes kept dragging lower. 

To her mouth.

All she could see was that moment in the dark. Yumeko’s lips pressed against hers, stained with the blue lipstick that Kira had been wearing. The color had smeared between them, blurred like the lines that should never have been crossed.

And now, standing here, those lips curved at her again, Kira felt the memory burn like poison still on her tongue.

Kira forced her gaze upward, locking her eyes back onto Yumeko’s as if the slip had never happened. Her tone remained even, polished, betraying nothing.

“The help will assist you.” She said simply. No warmth, no invitation, just dismissal wrapped in civility.

Without waiting for Yumeko’s reply, Kira turned on her heel and walked away, each step brisk, precise. Her hands, hidden at her sides, clenched tight enough that her nails bit into her palms.

Because if she lingered — if she let herself stay in that room, looking at Yumeko’s smile, at those lips — she wasn’t sure what she might do.

Better to leave. Better to keep her distance. Better to hold on to control before it slipped.

For a whole week, Kira didn’t see Yumeko.

Not by coincidence. By design.

The house was large enough to permit avoidance. Corridors stretched like labyrinths, wings partitioned for different guests, rooms grand enough to swallow sound. It was easy, almost laughably so, to pretend Yumeko simply did not exist. And Kira had chosen to live in that pretense.

She read in silence, worked in silence, walked the gardens alone. She filled her hours with structure: an hour for correspondence, an hour for study, an hour for polishing her father’s shadow into something she might one day escape. If she was careful enough, focused enough, she could almost forget the shape of Yumeko’s smile. Almost.

Until her door opened.

The sound was soft, casual, as though it were nothing to walk uninvited into Kira’s private space. But to Kira, it may as well have been a cannon blast. She looked up from her book, and there Yumeko stood, framed in the doorway, a deck of cards slipping effortlessly between her fingers.

It was obscene, the ease with which she moved. As if this was exactly where she belonged.

Kira sat upright, the book pressed flat against her knees, her voice cool enough to frost the air. “What are you doing here?”

Yumeko’s grin bloomed instantly, the picture of shameless mischief. “Well, my choice of companion is either you or Riri.” She answered lightly. Her eyes glinted. “And let’s face it, Riri isn’t exactly the most entertaining conversationalist, don’t you think? So… here I am.”

Kira stood, straight-backed, like a general at the head of her army. Her reply was clipped. “This is my room.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t.” Yumeko’s tone was mock-innocent, her smile wicked.

“Leave.”

Yumeko tapped a card against her chin, pretending to ponder the request. Then she let the word fall like a challenge. “Pass.”

And before Kira could stop her, Yumeko strolled further in, as though boundaries were a joke only Kira was still trying to tell. She bypassed Kira completely, moving toward the bed. Her hand darted out, seizing the book Kira had left half-open on the coverlet.

She flipped it in her hands, tilted her head at the title, and began to read aloud. “The Architecture of Empire: Foundations of Power and Succession.”

Her laughter rang out, low and amused. “Business strategy, hm? How thrilling. I bet you even color-code the chapters.”

Kira’s jaw set, her nails biting into her palms. She should have snatched the book back, should have raised her voice, should have dragged this girl out by the wrist if she had to. But she did none of those things.

Instead, she stood rooted to the floor, caught between the indignation that boiled in her chest and the pull she refused to name. Yumeko was too close, her presence thick in the air, pressing against Kira’s every nerve.

Finally, with the weight of her own silence cracking around her, Kira crossed the room and resumed her place on the bed. She arranged her posture with surgical precision, spine straight, shoulders set, legs folded neatly. She retrieved the book from Yumeko’s fingers without a word and opened it again, eyes scanning the page as if the words hadn’t already blurred into nonsense.

Her message was clear: if she couldn’t force Yumeko out, then she would erase her through sheer will, pretend she wasn’t there, pretend her pulse wasn’t thrumming too fast, pretend nothing at all had changed.

But Yumeko was nothing if not an unstoppable force.

Like a tide that never receded, she slid closer, settling beside Kira on the bed as though the space were hers by right. The mattress dipped under her weight, their shoulders nearly brushing.

Kira’s eyes stayed fixed on the book. She told herself she was reading, that she could parse the arguments about consolidation and succession with the same sharp focus as always. But the letters swam before her, blurred, dissolving into meaningless ink. 

“Let’s play.” Yumeko said at last, her voice sing-song, tempting.

“No.” Kira snapped, sharper than she intended.

Unbothered, Yumeko leaned in and tugged at the book, her grin widening when Kira’s grip resisted. “Come on. I brought the cards.” She let the deck fan open in her other hand, red and black flashing like fire.

Irritation flared, righteous and desperate. “Get out—” Kira began, the words heavy with the authority she had cultivated since childhood.

But Yumeko cut her off with a dagger-smooth offer. “If you win…” She said, eyes gleaming. “I’ll leave this house.”

That caught Kira’s attention. The book sagged in her hands. Her mind stilled.

Yumeko pressed forward, her voice lilting, hungry. “But if I win… you can’t lock your door.”

The room seemed to constrict around them. The deal was absurd, reckless, beneath her dignity — and yet, Kira found herself nodding. “Fine.”

The cards hit the space between them. They began to play.

At first, Kira dominated. Her moves were sharp, deliberate, calculated. Her hands moved with a precision Yumeko couldn’t match — or so it seemed. Round after round, Kira’s pile of winnings grew, and for the first time all evening, she felt the thrill of victory bloom in her chest.

But then, mid-game, the realization struck her like a cold blade: if she won, Yumeko would truly leave. And with her absence, so would this heat, this chaos, this unbearable pull that Kira pretended she didn’t need.

Her next move faltered. Subtly. Almost imperceptibly. But the momentum shifted.

Yumeko’s laughter deepened as her pile began to swell, her eyes glinting as though she could see the truth buried beneath Kira’s restraint. Round by round, Kira slipped — until finally, the last hand lay before her. She could have won it. She knew the odds, saw the opening, had the path to crush Yumeko’s smile into silence.

But she didn’t take it.

She threw the hand. Deliberately.

Yumeko’s victorious grin lit the room, brilliant and merciless. “Looks like I win.” She chimed, tucking the cards away.

Kira sat in silence, the weight of her decision pressing down on her. She felt stupid — stupid for allowing herself to lose, stupid for indulging Yumeko’s games, stupid for craving the very presence she’d sworn to avoid. And yet, beneath the shame, a darker truth coiled: 

She didn’t regret it. Not even a little bit.

Yumeko gathered the cards into a neat stack, humming as if the whole affair had been nothing more than a pleasant distraction. She stood, her skirt swaying as she turned toward the door.

Her hand lingered on the knob, and she glanced back, that smile playing at her lips. “Remember, no locks, Kira-san.”

Kira only rolled her eyes, forcing her expression into one of practiced boredom.

But Yumeko left satisfied, closing the door with a soft click that seemed to echo too loudly in the silence that followed.

Kira stayed seated for a moment, staring at the abandoned book still splayed open on her lap. Then, with a quiet exhale, she let herself fall back against the bed, eyes tracing the ceiling’s clean white lines.

It gave her no answers. It never would. And yet, she stared as if it might explain why she — Kira Timurov, heir, council president, daughter of a man who demanded perfection — had deliberately thrown a game just to keep Yumeko Jabami near.

The ceiling remained silent, unyielding, and Kira felt the weight of her own stupidity sink deeper into her chest.

The days passed in a deceptive calm. Yumeko hadn’t done anything strange since their late-night game. No cards scattered across Kira’s bed, no sudden intrusions into her quiet. It was almost enough for Kira to convince herself that she could exhale. Almost.

Until that afternoon.

She had been reading in her room again when, for reasons she could not articulate even to herself, Kira drifted to the window. Her eyes found the pool below, and froze.

There, reclining on a sunlounger as though she were the mistress of the house itself, was Yumeko. A red bikini clung to her figure, brilliant against the pale curve of her skin, dark shades shielding her eyes from the sun. She looked languid, unhurried, utterly at ease, the kind of creature built for decadence.

Kira told herself to look away.

She didn’t.

Her gaze lingered, treacherously, tracing the delicate lines of Yumeko’s collarbones, the tautness of her stomach, the impossible length of her legs. Her throat went dry.

It wasn’t her fault Yumeko was… attractive. Of course she was. She was meant to be. Yumeko moved through the world as if it bent to her whims, her recklessness dressed up as charm. 

Of course anyone would stare. Of course.

Still, Kira kept staring. Kept cataloguing every detail, every flicker of sunlight on Yumeko’s skin, every idle tilt of her wrist as she fanned herself. Fascination, that was all it was. A study of her opponent. An analysis. Nothing more.

Then, without warning, Yumeko slid her shades up onto her hair. Her head tilted, her eyes lifted to meet Kira’s. Direct. Unmistakable. 

And then she winked.

Kira jolted back as if struck, heat rising to her face, shame prickling like needles under her skin. She’d been caught. Caught in something she wasn’t supposed to do, caught in something she refused to name.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, breath refusing to steady. 

She hadn’t meant to look that long, truly she hadn’t. 

It was only — she had always seen Yumeko in that shamelessly altered uniform, but that was nothing compared to this. Seeing her like this, unguarded and radiant under the sun, was entirely different. 

Dangerous.

And now the image would not leave her. Every time Kira blinked, there it was again: Yumeko in red, reclining like a queen, her body stretched out in casual provocation. 

And worse — the memory tangled itself with another, unwanted, unstoppable. The stolen kiss. Yumeko’s lips against hers, slick with her own blue lipstick.

Kira pressed a hand to her temple, willing it all away. It didn’t leave. It pulsed, insistent, looping in her head until she could scarcely read the words on the page in front of her.

Frustrated, flustered, burning, she pushed herself off the bed. She needed to erase the thought, drown the heat before it consumed her entirely.

A cold shower. Very cold.

Steam clung to Kira’s skin as she stepped out of the bathroom, her hair damp, the towel wrapped tight around her body. The cold shower had numbed her enough, she thought, to steady her heart and silence the humiliating reel in her mind. She only wanted the comfort of her room, the solitude of her bed, so she could remind herself who she was.

But when she pushed the door open — her breath caught.

Yumeko was there.

Laid across Kira’s bed as though it belonged to her, propped up on one elbow, still in that same red bikini. The fabric seemed even more dangerous indoors, without the excuse of the sun, every line of her body outlined against Kira’s pristine sheets.

The sight nearly killed her.

For a heartbeat, Kira stood frozen, towel clutched tight against her chest, the remnants of cold water dripping from her hair down her spine. She couldn’t even summon the words. Couldn’t decide whether to demand, to threaten, or to run.

Because Yumeko didn’t move. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t even look startled. She simply smiled, slow and deliberate, as though she had been waiting.

And for the first time, Kira realized: her sanctuary wasn’t safe anymore.

Yumeko’s eyes slid lazily over her, the corner of her mouth curling up. “Coming out in just a towel? How… bold.”

Kira’s jaw tightened. She refused to give Yumeko the satisfaction of a reaction. Without a word, she crossed the room, keeping her back straight. She headed directly for her closet, the towel clutched more firmly around her body.

“Thought you were gonna come down.” Yumeko sing-songed from the bed.

Kira didn’t look back. “You thought wrong.”

“Oh?” Yumeko’s voice was all sugar, dripping with amusement. “Then tell me — am I also wrong, or… were you staring at me earlier?”

Kira froze for half a second before answering, clipped and cold. “You’re wrong.”

Yumeko giggled, the sound bright and cruel. “Kira, if you wanted to see me in a bikini, you could’ve just asked.”

“I don’t.”

She heard the creak of the bed as Yumeko stood. A moment later, she was there — too close, heat radiating from her skin, breath feathering against Kira’s cheek.

“Join me next time?” Yumeko whispered, her words brushing against her like a dare.

And then, just as suddenly, she pulled away, padding to the door with that same unbearable ease. The click of the latch closing behind her echoed like a gunshot.

Kira stood frozen, staring into her closet but seeing nothing, her pulse thunderous in her ears.

She had just showered. She was clean, composed, back in control.

And now she felt as though she needed another one.

A few days passed before Yumeko returned to the pool, stretched out once more in her lethal red bikini. Kira noticed her, of course she did — how could she not? 

But this time, she willed herself not to stare. Not to give in. Her gaze snapped away almost immediately, and she forced her feet to step back from the window.

Still, Yumeko saw her. Of course she did. She always did. And this time she lifted a hand, a playful little wave, as if she had been waiting for Kira’s eyes all along.

Kira retreated without hesitation. She shut the curtains, pumped the air conditioner until the room could be a freezer, and buried herself in her sheets. If she could just sleep, just drag her body into stillness, maybe the image of Yumeko by the pool wouldn’t claw at her brain.

She managed to drift off.

Until she woke to the faint dip of her mattress.

Kira’s eyes snapped open, and her breath caught at once. There, sliding beneath her covers as though she had every right, was Yumeko. The darkness of the room did nothing to blunt the sharp curve of her smile, the warmth of her body pressing so close beside her own.

Kira’s voice came out rough, unsteady. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t join me.” Yumeko’s pout was soft, exaggerated, lips pushed forward in feigned sulk.

Kira swallowed hard, her throat desert-dry. That pout, so close she could feel the brush of Yumeko’s breath, so close her lips might tilt just an inch, a fraction, and—

Her thoughts scrambled, broke apart, turned feral. 

She’s too close. Too close. Move away. Don’t look.

Want clawed at her, reckless, wild, battering against the walls of her restraint until she thought she might choke on it. She was losing her grip, and Yumeko knew it—Kira could see it in her eyes, glittering with wicked amusement.

She was going insane. Going absolutely insane with desire.

Yumeko shifted closer, the heat of her body pressing into Kira’s side, and suddenly Kira felt skin. Bare, smooth, impossible-to-ignore skin. Her eyes snapped open in realization — Yumeko was still in the bikini. Still wrapped in that red trap even here, even in her bed.

Kira’s voice scraped out, raw. “What are you doing?”

“For warmth.” Yumeko murmured, tone feather-light, playful. “It’s too cold in your room.”

Kira bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to sting, as though pain could anchor her, tether her to the discipline drilled into her bones. She forced her gaze upward, fixed on the ceiling’s pale expanse, every line of molding suddenly monumental, as if by studying them she could forget the reality pressing against her side.

But she couldn’t. Not when Yumeko’s skin grazed hers — smooth, warm, electric. Not when the thin cotton of the sheets did nothing to soften the contact. Not when she knew, with excruciating clarity, that it would only take a few small movements to undo everything Yumeko was wearing. 

A flick of her fingers to untie that bikini top. A careless tug at the knot of the bottom. 

Just that, and Yumeko would be bare before her, unveiled, no longer a dangerous daydream but a reality Kira could touch.

The thought scorched her. She strangled it at once, horrified at herself, but it returned, insistent, pounding in rhythm with her racing heart.

Every instinct screamed for discipline, for composure. She was Kira Timurov — order personified, the girl who never faltered. Yet her own breath betrayed her, sharp and uneven, pulling too fast into her lungs.

Control yourself. Don’t let her see. Don’t—

She shut her eyes tight, thinking that blindness might help. It was worse. With no ceiling to fixate on, no escape, the image inside her head roared to life: Yumeko in that red bikini, stretched out and taunting, all supple limbs and wicked smiles, leaning closer and closer until—

Kira’s body flared hot, treacherous, disobedient. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to do something. God, she wanted her.

And then Yumeko shifted, closing the already non-existent distance, nestling right against her. Heat bled from her body into Kira’s until Kira felt like she was burning alive.

“You’re warm.” Yumeko whispered, her voice low, amused.

Yes, because of you.

Her lips pressed together, holding back every dangerous word, every plea, every confession clawing up her throat. She forced a sound out, a low hum, the only thing she dared to give. Because if she spoke — if she gave Yumeko even a single syllable of truth — it would be the end of her restraint. It would be the end of everything.

So she lay rigid, pretending silence was strength, even as every nerve betrayed her. Yumeko’s skin against hers, Yumeko’s warmth seeping deeper and deeper, Yumeko’s nearness a temptation that throbbed like a wound.

And the longer she endured it, the thinner her resolve stretched, until she feared it would finally, fatally, snap.

When Yumeko finally rolled out of her bed, Kira had lain there rigid, every muscle straining to keep from reacting, from reaching, from surrendering. 

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Kira buried her face in her pillow, half in pride that she’d managed to control herself, half in unbearable frustration that she’d needed to. 

She’d done it — held the line. But it didn’t feel like victory. It felt like a punishment. Her body thrummed with restless heat, and the taste of restraint was bitter on her tongue.

The following days blurred together in a careful balancing act. Kira avoided Yumeko when she could, telling herself it was better this way, safer this way. Yet the memory of skin on skin, of warmth against her side, haunted her with ruthless precision.

Then, one afternoon, arms full of books from the library, Kira returned to her room. 

There she was. Yumeko. Again.

Sprawled across her bed as though it belonged to her, the sunlight painting her in molten gold. She was in that bikini — the same red one that had haunted too many of Kira’s nights, chased her even into her dreams.

The books slipped from her arms and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Yumeko turned at the noise, slow and lazy, and her smile curved as though she’d planned this moment all along. “There you are.”

Kira’s throat went dry. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Yumeko stretched languidly, a cat basking in the light. “I’m sunbathing.”

“Do it by the pool.”

“I noticed…” Yumeko said, as though Kira hadn’t spoken at all. “Your bed gets the perfect slice of sunlight in the afternoon. Golden hour, right here.” She patted the sheets casually, as if they were hers, as if it were perfectly natural for her to lounge in another’s room half-naked.

“You don’t have any right to be here.”

“I do, actually. I won it.” Yumeko replied with a mischievous gleam.

“That just meant I can’t lock my door. It doesn’t mean you get to—” Kira struggled, her voice cracking on the edges. “—to sunbathe in my bed.”

“Semantics.” Yumeko rolled onto her side, head propped on her hand, chest shifting forward with the movement. “Let’s be honest, Kira-san, I’m just giving you a better view. You’re going to look anyway. Might as well give you a front row seat.”

Then she winked.

Heat stabbed through Kira’s composure, mortification and hunger at war inside her. Because Yumeko was right. She was looking. She couldn’t stop herself. Even when she bent to gather her fallen books, her eyes betrayed her, flicking back for another glimpse of red strings, soft curves, golden skin that shimmered in the light.

Heavenly. Torturous. A curse dressed like a blessing.

Now what? She stood there, heart racing, the books trembling in her arms.

The chair was safe, distant, and cold. The bed was perilous, reckless, and close enough to breathe Yumeko’s air. Inches away from temptation incarnate.

And she didn’t know which would kill her faster.

Kira told herself it was her bed. She had every right to sit on it, to plant herself there like a queen reclaiming her throne. Yumeko was the intruder, the interloper, the wrong one here — not her. 

So Kira sat. Spine stiff, movements deliberate, she lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress as if planting a flag.

Hours passed like that. The world turned from gold to violet, then to shadow, and the room darkened around them. Kira read in silence, eyes locked on the page, forcing herself not to acknowledge the figure stretched only inches away. 

Yumeko made no move to leave. She didn’t fidget, didn’t demand, didn’t prod with her usual teasing words. She simply existed beside her, sprawled and radiant and there, her mere presence enough to fray Kira’s nerves like silk threads pulled too tight.

By the time the last of the sun dipped below the horizon, Kira realized she’d read the same paragraph at least five times and retained not a single word. She set the book down with more force than necessary and finally said. “You can’t sunbathe without the sun.”

From the corner of her vision, she saw Yumeko’s lips curve. “So now you notice me?”

Kira’s head snapped up despite herself. “What?”

“You haven’t looked at me since you sat down.”

“I was reading.”

“And now you’re not.” Yumeko purred, turning her wrist to gesture languidly at her own body. “Now look.”

Kira’s eyes followed instinctively, helplessly, as though tugged by a leash she hadn’t agreed to wear. Nothing had changed. She was still devastatingly attractive. Still wrong. Still dangerous.

But then Kira saw it — hard peaks beneath the thin layer of cloth, straining against the bikini top. Heat slammed into her chest like a fist, and she fisted the bedsheets to keep her hands from betraying her. Her jaw locked, her eyes snapped away, but her body already knew what her mind refused to admit.

Yumeko giggled softly, like she could hear the chaos inside Kira’s skull.

Kira could feel her shift on the bed, every subtle dip of the mattress, every brush of air against her skin. And then a ghost of breath against her ear, warm and deliberate.

“It’s so cold…” Yumeko whispered, a shiver of heat masquerading as complaint. “I’ll go in the hot tub later. At midnight. Join me, okay?”

Kira didn’t dare look. Her fists remained locked in the sheets, her gaze nailed to the floor as though it could anchor her to restraint. She said nothing, not even a hum.

And then the weight shifted again. Yumeko rose, the heat of her body peeling away. Footsteps padded across the floor, languid and unhurried. The latch clicked, the door opened.

And Kira finally sucked in a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The air burned on the way down, her lungs expanding with relief and shame and hunger all tangled together.

The silence left in Yumeko’s wake was worse than her presence.

She started thinking at 9 PM.

Now, she looked at her phone and it displayed…

11:43 PM

And so she had a decision to make.

Kira sat upright on her bed, her phone glowing in her palm like it held the weight of her damnation. The numbers on the clock ticked forward, steady, merciless. She had seventeen minutes to decide whether she was going to walk into the night like a fool — or stay exactly where she was and prove, to herself if no one else, that she could resist.

It should have been simple. A hot tub was just a hot tub. Warm water against cold air, nothing more. People did it all the time. It was ordinary. Harmless.

But with Yumeko, nothing was ever ordinary. Harmless wasn’t a word that could exist in the same breath as her name. Kira knew it, felt it in her bones: if she went down there, it wouldn’t be about water or warmth. It would be about what happened when skin touched skin without the buffer of fabric, when their faces were close enough that one wrong movement — no, one deliberate movement — would erase the boundary they had been tiptoeing around for weeks.

She told herself she wouldn’t let it get that far. She told herself she would keep her distance, that she could sit across from Yumeko in the steaming water and talk about nothing, about cards, about school, about the weather if she had to. Just two girls soaking in silence.

But she knew better.

Because she remembered Yumeko’s breath on her ear, the whisper of “join me, okay?” as if it were meant for more than heat — or at least, a different kind. 

She remembered the way Yumeko’s eyes tracked her like a game, how every smirk, every wink was a move on a board Kira hadn’t agreed to play. 

And she remembered that damn bikini, that flash of red that haunted her whether she was awake or asleep.

If she went, she’d be choosing to step closer to the edge. And Yumeko would push — she always pushed.

But if she didn’t… what then? Would Yumeko laugh at her retreat? Would she waltz into Kira’s room again, invade her sheets, smirk and call her a coward? 

The thought made Kira’s jaw clench. 

She refused to give Yumeko that satisfaction. She refused to let anyone — least of all Yumeko Jabami — think she could be rattled.

11:51 PM

Her heart beat faster the longer she stared at the clock. She thought of her father, of her sister, of how ridiculous this all was. She had bigger battles to fight. She had no time for this game, no space for this distraction. Yumeko should have been a problem already solved, not a shadow that followed her into every private corner.

And yet…

Kira pictured the steam curling into the midnight air, imagined Yumeko waiting there, red strings plastered to her body in the water, her hair slick and her smile lazy and knowing. She imagined their knees brushing beneath the surface, imagined what it would feel like to look up and see nothing but Yumeko’s skin above her.

11:55 PM

Kira’s hand clenched around the phone.

She could go. 

She could not. 

Either choice would trap her, just in different cages.

Her breath trembled as she shut her eyes, weighing the question not of if she wanted to — but if she could survive wanting this much at all.

12:00 AM

Kira hated herself for it.

The clock struck midnight, and somehow, she was no longer in her room but outside, sunk in the steaming water, her own bikini clinging to her skin. She sat across from Yumeko, who wore the exact same shade of red she’d seen far too often in her nightmares — or dreams, if she was being brutally honest.

And Yumeko was smiling.

That infuriating, smug, self-satisfied curve of her lips that seemed to say I knew you’d come.

Kira’s jaw tightened. Her fingers dug into the edge of the hot tub, knuckles pale under the rising steam. She told herself she should get up, walk away, retreat before this became something she couldn’t take back. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Because her insides were clawing — screaming for her to stay, to endure, to suffer if that’s what it took — until she was the one to wipe that look off Yumeko’s face.

It wasn’t desire, not exactly. It was war, twisted into something dangerous. A promise she couldn’t quite name.

Kira stared across the water at her rival, at the gleam in Yumeko’s eyes that seemed to reflect every wicked thought in her head. And though she kept her body still, composed, her every nerve burned with the weight of one unbearable truth:

She wanted to win.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure what victory meant.

The water lapped softly against the edges, the steam curling between them like smoke from a gun barrel. Yumeko leaned back, arms spread along the rim, her smile widening as though this were her victory lap.

“You look so tense, Kira-san.” She drawled, tilting her head just so. “Is it me, or the water?”

Kira’s gaze flicked away, cold as glass. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve endured worse irritations.”

Yumeko laughed — a low, throaty sound that rippled across the space between them. “Ah, so I am an irritation. That’s quite the compliment.”

Kira’s eyes snapped back to hers, sharp as a blade. “You should aim higher. Being anything to me has never ended well for anyone.”

But Yumeko only leaned forward, elbows on her knees now, the steam curling around her shoulders. Her smile didn’t falter; it deepened, gleaming with delight. “Then maybe I’ll be the first exception. Don’t you think that’d be exciting?”

Kira scoffed, though the sound was thinner than she meant it to be. “You confuse recklessness for excitement.”

“And you…” Yumeko countered, a spark of mischief in her voice. “Confuse fear for discipline.”

The words hung between them like sparks from flint, sharp enough to cut, hot enough to burn. Kira told herself she hated the way Yumeko’s eyes gleamed every time she landed a barb. Told herself she despised the way Yumeko seemed to enjoy being insulted, as though every word was fuel for her fire.

And yet, beneath the water, her pulse throbbed in her throat, refusing to calm.

Kira’s lips curved — not into a smile, but into that razor-thin line she wore when she wanted her words to cut deeper than steel. “There’s no confusion, Yumeko. You’re neither disciplined nor afraid of me.”

Yumeko’s laughter came soft at first, then richer, rolling through the steam like heat itself. She tilted her head, wet strands of hair sticking to her cheek as her grin widened. “Hmm… not afraid, no. But disciplined?” She let the word linger on her tongue, savoring it. “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of when the right… incentive is involved.”

Kira’s eyes narrowed. “Everything is a game to you. Even this.”

“Of course it is.” Yumeko leaned forward, the steam painting her skin in glistening trails, her voice dropping into something velvet-soft. “And tell me, Kira… doesn’t it thrill you? Knowing I’d gladly gamble all my discipline, every ounce, just to see how far you’ll let me go?”

The words lodged like heat in Kira’s chest, but she refused to flinch. Her chin lifted instead, her tone cutting back, sharper than ever. “You’ll never get far.”

And yet — she hadn’t noticed the shift until it was too late.

Every exchange, every barb, every smirk across the water had tugged them closer, inch by inch, like magnets too stubborn to admit their pull. Yumeko leaned forward, her elbows slipping off the rim, her gaze burning through the rising steam. Kira, without realizing, had mirrored her — drawn toward the flame she kept swearing she would not touch.

“You keep looking at me like that…” Yumeko purred, her lips curving in that maddening smile. “And people might think you’re enjoying yourself.”

Kira’s glare was sharp enough to flay, her voice steady despite the heat pooling low in her stomach. “Don’t confuse contempt with enjoyment.”

Yumeko chuckled, low and indulgent. “Hmm… but contempt looks so much like desire on you, Kira-san. The tight jaw, the clenched fists… the way your eyes can’t quite stay away.”

“I’m watching a threat.” Kira bit out. “Nothing more.”

Yumeko tilted her head, her smile softening into something far more dangerous. “If I’m only a threat, why do you keep moving closer?”

Kira’s breath hitched — and only then did she realize the truth of it. Their knees nearly touched under the water, the distance between their faces now no more than a whisper. She’d been closing the gap without even knowing.

And then Yumeko’s hand broke the surface of the water, droplets trailing down her arm as she reached forward. Her fingers grazed Kira’s bare skin, a featherlight touch along her arm, sending sparks racing where discipline demanded calm.

“I bet all my clothes…” Yumeko whispered, her face tilting, eyes gleaming like a gambler with the perfect hand. “That you want to kiss me right now.”

Kira froze.

She stared into Yumeko’s eyes, the steam swirling around them like smoke after a gunshot, her own reflection trembling back at her in those dark, fevered pupils.

She couldn’t think of anything to say. Not when Yumeko was that close. Not when the space was private enough for anything to happen. Not when Yumeko’s body language screamed invitation, her lips parted in the slightest tilt of readiness.

Every law of Kira’s being said don’t. Every thread of her upbringing said resist. Every iron chain of her discipline said you cannot want this.

And yet—

Her body moved before her mind could forbid it.

Against her own principles, against her own rigid control, Kira leaned in and crushed her lips to Yumeko’s. 

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was fire meeting oil, a collision so fierce it threatened to burn them both alive. Yumeko only laughed against Kira’s mouth, the sound muffled but taunting, like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

That laugh snapped something in Kira.

Her hand shot to Yumeko’s jaw, angling her face up, while her other arm pressed against the smooth edge of the tub for leverage. The water sloshed violently as Kira surged forward, pinning Yumeko back against the porcelain. The cool slickness of the tub against Yumeko’s skin contrasted with the heat of Kira’s mouth, with the fury and hunger lacing every movement.

Yumeko let herself be caged there, her arms draped lazily over the edge as though she were letting Kira devour her out of charity. That smug tilt to her lips only deepened the harder Kira kissed her, the rougher Kira claimed.

And it only drove Kira wilder.

Because here, finally, Yumeko’s endless provocation had meaning. Here, she wasn’t untouchable, wasn’t just a voice dripping with mockery and challenge. Here, under Kira’s mouth, her body pressed between porcelain and discipline undone — she was hers.

No gamble. No bet. No scheme.

Just this.

And as Kira pinned Yumeko tighter, tasting the salt of steam and the soft, infuriating sweetness of her mouth, one truth rang loud and undeniable in her chest:

No other victory would ever taste better than Yumeko.

Chapter Text

After that night in the hot tub, the line was broken — or maybe it had never been there to begin with. 

Yumeko began appearing in her room more often. Not always with the same intention, not always with that raw, hungry gleam in her eyes. 

Sometimes she just wanted company — sitting cross-legged on Kira’s bed with a deck of cards, shuffling them like the sound itself was a game. 

Sometimes she came carrying a board game tucked under her arm, smiling as though she’d just thought of the cleverest way to waste Kira’s time. 

And sometimes she arrived with no excuse at all, just her voice, just her smile, just a new playful, suggestive turn of phrase to test whether Kira would give in.

But no matter how it started, every time it ended the same. Every single time. With Yumeko pressed against her, with heat building between them, with restraint collapsing into something fierce and inevitable. They would come together again and again, and every time the rush of it left Kira shaken to her core.

And afterward — after the storm had passed and their skin was damp and Kira was struggling to slow her breathing — Yumeko would stay. 

For a little while. 

She’d lounge there as if nothing monumental had just happened, tossing out a careless joke, a lazy flirt, some teasing remark about how hard Kira had bitten down on her shoulder. And then she would rise, put on her clothes, and leave.

Always leave.

The latch on the door would click, soft but final, and Kira would be left with silence. Left with the ache in her chest that had nothing to do with sex. 

Because it wasn’t just physical release anymore.

It couldn’t be, not with the way she found herself waiting for Yumeko’s footsteps to return. Not with the way her body, still warm and satisfied, would betray her heart with a hollow, gnawing emptiness the moment she was alone.

I am not supposed to feel this way. 

She told herself that every time. This was supposed to be about desire, about giving her body what it craved and nothing more. Yumeko didn’t promise her anything, didn’t offer her anything beyond that wicked smile and the heat of her body. 

And yet, every time Kira closed her eyes after Yumeko left, she caught herself wishing. 

Wishing the girl would come back. Wishing, foolishly, that the door would creak open again, that Yumeko would laugh and say she’d forgotten something — her earrings, her deck of cards, her sanity. Anything.

But the door never opened. The latch stayed closed. And each time, the disappointment carved her hollow a little deeper.

What made it unbearable wasn’t just the ache of wanting — it was the absurdity of who she wanted. 

Because Yumeko was infuriating. She lived to get under Kira’s skin, to press and prod and tease until Kira’s composure frayed. She smiled when she should have taken things seriously, laughed when Kira was ready to snap. She mocked discipline, toyed with danger, and never once showed the slightest hint of fear. 

Yumeko was chaos in a girl’s skin — and Kira, who had built her whole life on control, should have despised her for it.

And yet, despite the irritation, despite the sharp words exchanged, Kira found herself craving her presence more than silence, more than solitude, more than anything else. 

She caught herself listening for Yumeko’s laugh in the hall, waiting for the creak of her door, straining against the quiet when the girl didn’t come. 

It didn’t make sense. 

None of it did.

Kira had been taught that emotions were weakness, that attachment was a chain. She’d learned to lock her feelings down so tight she sometimes wondered if she still had any at all. 

And now here she was, restless and undone, burning with something she couldn’t name every time Yumeko left her bed.

It would have been easier if it was just lust. She could have excused that, could have written it off as her body’s treachery. But this was something else — something far more dangerous. 

Something that made her ache not just for Yumeko’s touch, but for her nearness, her attention, her existence. And Kira couldn’t forgive herself for it. Not when the girl who lit this fire inside her was the very same one who delighted in watching her burn.

But of course, she pretended nothing was bothering her. That was her role, after all.

And so it kept happening, and each time, Kira let herself swim in the disappointment that Yumeko’s departure left.

It was not until a few days after, that Kira realized that maybe her problem was more serious than she thought.

Kira had her exactly where she wanted her. Yumeko was sprawled beneath her, hair damp against the sheets, lips parted as though she’d forgotten how to breathe. 

Kira knew this body too well by now — the way Yumeko’s thighs tightened when she was close, the way her breath hitched just before the breaking point, the particular sound that slipped from her throat when release was only a heartbeat away.

She could feel it now. Yumeko was teetering, so close. All it would take was one more stroke, one more flick, one more deliberate press and Kira could pull that sound out of her again.

And then Yumeko would be done. She’d sigh, maybe tease her, maybe kiss her once or twice more. She’d catch her breath, laugh like none of this meant a thing, and then — she would leave. 

Because Yumeko always left.

“Ah—! Kira…” Yumeko’s voice cracked, sweet and desperate. She arched into her touch.

Kira’s hand stilled.

Yumeko whimpered, hips rolling instinctively, chasing what had been snatched away. Kira forced herself to smirk, to make it look deliberate.

“Not yet.” She murmured, low enough that it sounded like control. Like teasing.

But it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t even about the sex anymore. It was about the door. The door clicking shut behind Yumeko. The silence that followed. The way her chest felt too tight and her bed felt too big the moment Yumeko left.

Yumeko groaned in frustration, head tossing back against the pillow. “Kira… don’t—”

Kira leaned forward, kissing just below her stomach, letting her lips drag against hot skin.

“Patience.” She whispered, as though that was the game. As though she wasn’t simply buying herself time.

She wanted Yumeko to come. God, she loved unraveling her, watching the control slip from her fingers. But the moment it ended, so would Yumeko’s stay. 

And Kira couldn’t stand it. Not tonight. Not when her veins felt carved open, when every breath of Yumeko’s filled her with more ache than relief.

So she lingered. Drew patterns with her fingers, enough to keep Yumeko burning but not enough to let her fall. She pretended it was for the power, for the control, for the cruel pleasure of making Yumeko beg. 

But in truth, it was for herself. 

For these stolen minutes. 

For holding her here just a little longer.

“Cruel…” Yumeko gasped, trembling. Her nails dug into the sheets. “You’re cruel…”

Kira bit back a bitter laugh. If only she knew. If only Yumeko knew how much of this was desperation, not discipline. If only she knew Kira wasn’t tormenting her to assert dominance, but because the thought of being left alone again was worse than any punishment Yumeko could imagine.

And so Kira stayed there, drawing her suffering out, not because she wanted Yumeko to break—

“Beg.”

—but because she wanted her to stay.

Yumeko’s voice broke into something between a plea and a cry. “Please… Kira-san— please, I need—”

Kira’s hand trembled where it hovered, her lips against Yumeko’s thigh. She wanted to deny her again, to hold her on the knife’s edge forever. But Yumeko was already surrendering, already giving her all the power she had. And if Kira didn’t grant her release now, Yumeko would know something was off. She’d see through her mask.

Kira couldn’t bear that. She’d rather give Yumeko everything than let her glimpse the chaos boiling underneath.

So she gave in. She fastened her touch, sharp and deliberate, the practiced rhythm she already knew would destroy Yumeko’s composure. She angled herself just so, pressing harder, faster, dragging every desperate sound out of her.

And Yumeko sang.

Kira’s eyes didn’t dare close. She drank in every flicker of Yumeko’s face — the way her lips parted like she was breathing Kira’s name, the way her brows pinched as though overwhelmed, the way her entire body arched as if pulled taut on invisible strings. Every moan, every shudder, every gasp was committed to memory like an addict storing away their last taste.

Because when the latch clicked shut, when the sheets cooled and the silence stretched, these memories would be all Kira had left.

She dug her nails into Yumeko’s thighs, harder than necessary, maybe cruel, but maybe also hope — hope that if she marked her deep enough, Yumeko would have to stay. Hope that if she pushed her body too far, she’d be too weak to walk away. 

Kira wanted her ruined, undone, unable to leave this bed. She wanted her here, always here.

And when Yumeko broke apart — when the moans collapsed into whimpers, when her thighs trembled around Kira’s shoulders, when her hand clutched at the sheets like it was the only thing tethering her to earth — Kira pressed harder, almost frantic, carving every second of it into her bones.

“Ki— ra—” Yumeko gasped, the syllables shattering into a moan.

Kira thought: if she died right now, hearing her name unravel like that would be enough. And yet, immediately, she knew it wouldn’t.

Because this wasn’t love. This wasn’t devotion. This was just lust. Just need. Just the heat of a body that didn’t belong to her.

And the emptiness in her chest demanded so much more.

Still, Kira lingered, even after Yumeko collapsed back against the sheets, breathless, skin slick with sweat. She forced herself to keep watching, to memorize the flutter of her lashes, the damp hair stuck to her forehead, the exact pitch of the last whimper that had fallen from her lips.

It was stupid, desperate, and completely humiliating.

But if she had to live through another night of silence, at least she’d have this — this map of Yumeko’s body burned into her memory, to torture herself with again and again.

Kira kissed the inside of her thigh once, more tender than she intended, then pulled back. She watched Yumeko’s chest rise and fall, as though she could trick herself into believing this scene could last forever.

But it wouldn’t. She knew what came next. 

And Kira would be left with nothing but the ghost of her body and the weight of her own hunger.

Her lips lingered against the damp inside of Yumeko’s thigh, the heat of her climax still pulsing there. She knew she should pull back, let her rest, let the silence between them spool out until Yumeko gathered herself and slipped away like she always did. 

But the thought of the door latch clicking shut sent a spike of panic through her chest.

She didn’t want her to leave. She couldn’t let her leave.

So Kira acted before she could think better of it. 

Her mouth trailed upward, pressing wet, possessive kisses along Yumeko’s stomach to the soft swell of her breast. She caught a nipple between her lips and sucked, not too hard, just enough to pull a breathy sound out of her. Then higher, her tongue dragging the salt of sweat along Yumeko’s collarbone, up to her throat, to her jaw, until she found her lips again.

But when she kissed her, Yumeko broke away with a weak laugh, pushing faintly at Kira’s shoulder. 

“No more…” She whispered, her voice thin, her body slack with fatigue.

Kira froze, staring at her. Yumeko was tired, she could feel it in her bones, and see it in her half-lidded eyes. 

But not tired enough to stay. 

No, Yumeko still had enough strength to leave her again. To put her dress back on, fix her smile, and vanish into the night.

She bent close, lips brushing the shell of Yumeko’s ear, and whispered. “Please.” Her tongue flicked over the curve, tasting her, claiming her. 

Her hand roamed down Yumeko’s trembling body, slipping across her stomach, over her hip. She whispered again, lower. “One more. Can you do that for me?”

Her fingers found Yumeko’s clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles, not giving her a chance to recover, not giving her a chance to leave.

Yumeko gasped, arching despite herself. The moan that left her lips was ragged, raw, the sound of someone at the edge of her limits. 

“Yes.” She panted, broken, her head tilting back against the sheets. “I— I can do more.”

And then Yumeko’s eyes opened, glassy with exhaustion and pleasure, and locked on hers. She swallowed hard, her lips parting around the words that shattered Kira’s world.

“For you.”

Kira’s chest clenched as though she’d been shot. It wasn’t just lust anymore. It couldn’t be. That wasn’t how Yumeko was supposed to look at her, wasn’t how her voice was supposed to crack. Those words shouldn’t mean more than they did, but they did. 

They burned like confession, like devotion, like everything Kira was too terrified to name.

Her throat tightened. She couldn’t let herself think about it, couldn’t let herself peel apart what that meant. If she did, she’d go mad.

So she drowned herself in the only thing she could control: Yumeko’s body.

She kissed her hard, swallowing every breath, and her hand worked faster between Yumeko’s legs, coaxing her closer, closer, desperate to wring one more climax out of her, desperate to make this moment stretch on forever.

Not because of the pleasure. Not because of the sex.

But because as long as Yumeko was falling apart in her arms, she wasn’t leaving.

Every time Yumeko collapsed beneath her, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat, Kira would let her breathe for a handful of seconds — just enough for the tremors in her thighs to soften, for her lashes to flutter shut — before she kissed her again.

And every time, her hand followed. Gentle at first, coaxing, teasing until Yumeko’s voice cracked with need, until her body betrayed her exhaustion and shivered under Kira’s touch. 

And every time Kira whispered “one more,” Yumeko, somehow, would nod. Would say yes. Would give it to her.

The longer it went on, the sooner Yumeko broke. Her moans sounded thinner, more fragile; her body jerked harder, less controlled. Every climax hit sharper, briefer, as though her body was burning through the last of her strength just to give Kira what she asked for.

And still Kira couldn’t stop.

The words spilled from her lips like a prayer, a curse, a plea she couldn’t swallow: one more.

Until finally, Yumeko’s voice came out hoarse, wet with exhaustion, her body swimming in their combined sweat. “I— I can’t anymore, Kira…”

Kira looked at her then, really looked. Yumeko’s hair was plastered to her face, her cheeks flushed and damp. Her thighs trembled even when still, every muscle quivering with overuse. She doubted Yumeko could even stand, much less walk out that door. The sight should have satisfied her. It should have been enough.

But just for good measure, Kira leaned close, her lips brushing the corner of Yumeko’s slack mouth, and whispered. “One more?”

Yumeko let out a broken laugh, the sound almost delirious. “I can’t count how many times you’ve said that already…”

A weak chuckle left Kira’s throat, equal parts relief and obsession. She kissed Yumeko’s damp temple, whispering against her skin, “One last.” Her mouth moved lower, down her jaw, her throat, claiming her again.

Yumeko lifted her gaze, heavy-lidded and glassy, and met Kira’s eyes head-on. “Okay… last one. Okay?”

For the first time that night, Kira smiled — softly, almost tenderly. “Of course.”

She shifted then, pulling Yumeko carefully, almost reverently, into position. Guiding her onto her knees, head sinking into the pillows, arms limp in front of her. Kira’s breath caught at the sight — Yumeko trembling, bare, surrendering.

Perfect.

And deep down, Kira knew exactly why she’d done it. Not just to make Yumeko come apart again. Not just to make her stay a little longer.

But because she knew — when this was over, when Yumeko’s legs gave out completely — there was no way she’d be able to leave.

Kira braced herself over Yumeko’s trembling body, her breath hot against the back of her neck. She slid her fingers inside again, not one, not two, but three, driving them deep while her thumb worked unrelentingly at Yumeko’s clit. The girl buckled, her body arching forward into the pillows, voice cracking as she gasped Kira’s name.

“Ki— Kira—!”

But just as her moans climbed higher, just as her muscles began to tighten around Kira’s hand, she slowed. Her thrusts softened, her strokes gentled, dragging Yumeko back from the precipice.

Yumeko whined, the sound pitiful. 

Her hips tried to follow Kira’s hand, desperate to keep the pace, but her body was too weak — her legs shook beneath her, arms too limp to push back for more friction. All she could do was bury her face in the pillow, panting, and wait for Kira’s mercy.

Kira leaned down, tongue sliding between Yumeko’s folds, tasting the salt of her sweat mixed with the slickness she’d already pulled from her countless times. She licked slowly, cruelly, giving Yumeko just enough to jolt a moan from her throat, before retreating again.

The cycle repeated. Over and over.

Every time Yumeko’s body tightened, every time she reached for that cliff edge, Kira dragged her back.

She watched the girl unravel, her voice breaking into hoarse, pleading cries — “please…” “Kira, please” — but Kira only smirked against her skin. Because Yumeko had given her all the power. Because Yumeko was hers like this, trembling, begging, unable to resist or leave.

And when Yumeko’s knees were nearly buckling, when her thighs quivered so hard Kira was half-certain they would collapse beneath her, when her hips no longer even twitched to chase Kira’s hand — only then did Kira decide.

She quickened. Fingers pumping harder, thumb circling faster, her mouth closing over Yumeko’s clit with ravenous precision.

The reaction was immediate. Yumeko screamed into the pillow, muffled but still loud enough to echo in the small room, her voice torn between sobbing and moaning. 

Her body convulsed, muscles spasming violently as if her body couldn’t contain the sheer force of it. She bit down hard into the fabric, but it barely dulled the raw sounds spilling from her throat.

Kira didn’t stop, not until Yumeko’s whole frame was shaking, until every ounce of strength was wrung out of her. She held her there, pushed her through it, watched her break apart until there was nothing left but shuddering aftershocks.

Only then did Kira ease back, pressing a kiss to Yumeko’s damp shoulder. She stared at the mess of her — the sweat, the flushed skin, the trembling limbs — and felt a surge of grim satisfaction pulse through her chest.

Kira finally lay down beside her, chest still heaving from the effort she’d poured into wearing Yumeko out. For a long moment she just watched the rise and fall of her chest, the small tremors still twitching through her body. 

Then, softer than she meant to, Kira asked. “You okay?”

Yumeko tried to move, tried to turn to face her. The shift alone made her whimper, every inch of her body raw and overstimulated. Her lashes fluttered open, and through a weak, breathless laugh she whispered. “You’re a monster.”

Kira smirked faintly, though her voice came out steadier. “You need rest.”

“I’ll… I’ll just catch my breath.” Yumeko murmured, though her words slurred around the edges. Kira’s gut tightened at once. That tone wasn’t rest. That tone was preparation. Yumeko was already thinking of leaving. Already piecing together the little strength she needed to push herself off the bed and go back to her room, like always.

Kira’s mind raced. Excuses flickered, one after the other. You’re too tired, you’ll fall on the way. It’s too late, the halls are too dark at this hour. Just stay… just stay. She gripped the sheets, preparing to speak — but when her eyes returned to Yumeko, the fight was already gone.

Her lashes had fallen shut again. Her breathing steadied. Somewhere between promise and action, exhaustion claimed her, and Yumeko had slipped into sleep.

Kira froze. And then — smiled.

Yumeko was staying. At least for tonight.

Careful not to wake her, Kira slid off the bed and retrieved a damp cloth. She knelt between Yumeko’s legs, gently cleaning the slick from her thighs, her skin flushed so red it looked tender to the touch. 

Kira’s mouth watered; the urge to lean in, to taste her all over again, nearly overwhelmed her. But she forced herself back, jaw tightening. 

Yumeko needed rest more than she needed Kira’s hunger.

When she was done, she gathered Yumeko’s discarded clothes, folded them neatly, and set them on the nightstand by her side of the bed. Then she slipped her arms under Yumeko’s body, rearranging her into a more comfortable position. The comforter came up next, tucking her in softly, and finally Kira adjusted the room’s temperature by a few degrees. She remembered the way Yumeko always complained about being cold — something she had no business remembering, yet she did.

At last, Kira slid back under the sheets. She leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against Yumeko’s damp forehead, and let her eyes close. For the first time, she was falling asleep with Yumeko still here. Still beside her.

Happiness, real happiness, bloomed in her chest as she drifted off.

But it didn’t last.

Her arm stretched across the space beside her automatically, searching, foolishly, for warmth that wasn’t there. Only the smooth, empty dip of the mattress met her palm. She sat up, slow, eyes darting to the nightstand — clothes gone. Comforter half-folded back. Even the faintest imprint where Yumeko’s body had rested was already fading.

Yumeko had left.

Because of course she did.

Of course Yumeko had slipped away the moment her body recovered enough to move. That was who she was — never lingering, never bound. Kira had known that from the beginning. She had told herself, again and again, not to expect anything more. 

And yet.

Now, the emptiness was worse. Sharper than it had ever been before.

Because before, when Kira closed her eyes, Yumeko had already gone. There was safety in that. She had learned to manage it, to survive it.

But last night had betrayed her.

For the first time, she had allowed herself peace. She had lain down beside Yumeko with the quiet certainty that, when her eyes closed, someone would still be there. That Yumeko would still be there. And for the span of a few hours, Kira had believed it. She had allowed herself that fragile, dangerous hope.

Now it was gone.

The sight of the empty sheets, the silence where Yumeko’s breathing should have been — it cut deeper than all the other mornings combined. It wasn’t just loss anymore. It was loss multiplied by the cruel memory of presence.

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting her palms as she stared at the vacant space.

This is what I get.

For letting her guard down. For wanting too much. For needing Yumeko in ways she couldn’t admit even to herself.

No matter how many times she kissed her, no matter how many ways she tried to hold her here, Yumeko would always leave.

And all Kira could do — all she had ever been able to do — was deal with the emptiness left behind.

Only now, it gnawed deeper. Because now, she knew what it felt like for that emptiness to be filled, if only for a night.

It took days. Long, dragging days where Kira’s room stayed quiet, where she buried herself in pages she barely absorbed, where every creak in the hallway had her pulse stuttering before disappointment set in again. 

She told herself it was for the better — time to breathe, time to put her thoughts back in order. And yet, when the latch finally turned, when the door opened without a knock, Kira didn’t even need to look up.

She already knew.

“Didn’t think you were ever coming back.” She said flatly, eyes still on the book in her hands.

Yumeko’s laugh was as careless as always, floating across the room like a breeze that ignored locked windows. “With what you did to me last time? I didn’t even think I’d be able to walk again.”

So did I.

Her chest ached with the memory of Yumeko trembling, spent, too weak to move. She had been certain that night would pin Yumeko to her bed, force her to stay. But no. Somehow, she had still found her legs and walked away.

Of course she had.

Kira didn’t reply. Instead, she turned another page she hadn’t read, eyes dragging over the lines like they might shield her.

The mattress dipped. A subtle shift of weight, a quiet claiming of space. Then the book was tugged gently from her grasp, and she found herself staring not at paper, but at Yumeko.

“There you are…” Yumeko said softly, scanning her face with an expression that, on anyone else, Kira might have called tender.

Another time, those words might have undone her. Another time, Kira might have snapped at the heat creeping up her neck, might have felt her discipline crack under the weight of that gaze.

But not today.

Because even after days had passed, even after every rational part of her screamed to move on, she still hadn’t scraped away the sting of waking up alone.

Maybe that night had meant nothing more to Yumeko than another gamble, another thrill, another conquest. Like a one-night stand that stretched across the hours until dawn.

But to Kira, it had meant too much.

So she forced her voice sharp, laced it with sarcasm. “This is my room. Of course I’m here.”

The bite was deliberate, a blade meant to remind them both where they stood. And yet, even as she said it, her chest twisted, because Yumeko’s nearness always made her walls tremble.

“Well, I know.” Yumeko replied simply, as if Kira’s sarcasm didn’t cut at all, as if it had only amused her more. “That’s why I came here.”

Kira almost — almost — let herself soften at the words. Almost let herself believe there was something more in Yumeko’s presence than games and appetite. But she caught herself, like she always did, snapping the cord before it could pull taut. Her voice was cool, her eyes steady.

“What do you want?”

Yumeko tilted her head, that maddeningly playful smile curving her lips, like she was genuinely confused by the question. Then, without answering, she reached for the nightstand. Her pale fingers wrapped around a glass and a half-filled bottle of scotch

“Look what I found in the kitchen.” Yumeko sang, holding it up like a prize.

And just like that, Kira was dragged back. The retreat. The heavy air of her father’s presence. Uncle Ray’s smug voice, the shadow of murder, the poison hidden in amber liquid. The way Yumeko had looked at her that day: wild, daring, desperate. And the kiss — their first kiss — that had nearly killed her.

Yumeko popped the cork, poured the liquor into the glass with a languid tilt, the sound of it splashing unnervingly familiar.

“Why just one glass?” Kira asked sharply, her voice firmer than she felt. “I’m sure there’s enough in the kitchen they wouldn’t notice if a dozen were gone.”

Yumeko smirked, that dangerous glint in her eyes. “Because this tastes so much better shared with you.” She leaned closer, her shadow stretching over Kira, invading her air, her composure. “Or…” 

Her voice dropped, sultry, sharp as a card’s edge. “…from you.”

Before Kira could retort, Yumeko guided the glass to her lips. The rim pressed cool against them, the liquid hotter as it slid down her throat. And all the while, Yumeko never broke eye contact. Those dark, bottomless eyes, smiling at her even when her lips didn’t move.

When the glass was empty, Yumeko pulled it away, set it aside with careless grace, then struck.

Her mouth was sudden and inevitable against Kira’s, stealing breath the same way she had that first time, back when poison danced between them.

Kira should have pushed her away. Should have remembered the sharpness of that afternoon, the danger that clung to Yumeko like perfume. 

But she didn’t.

She caved. Again.

Her fingers curled into Yumeko’s hair, her lips meeting the kiss with equal hunger, as if she’d been waiting — aching — for this exact collapse.

And as their mouths collided, hard and desperate, Kira’s last thought before surrendering was bitter and breathless: I never stood a chance against her.

Yumeko pulled away with a smile, her lips glistening, her eyes bright with the thrill of the moment. She moved as though she was about to push Kira down into the mattress, her hands already brushing against her shoulders when—

“Wait.”

The word shot out sharper than Kira intended, cutting through the humid air between them.

Yumeko paused, blinking, her head tilting just slightly. Her smile dimmed into curiosity. “What’s the problem?”

Kira’s chest rose and fell, her breaths uneven, her body screaming at her to just give in, to let Yumeko do whatever she wanted. But her mind… her mind was clawing at the edges of panic.

This — all of this — had gone too far.

Yumeko was the only one she’d ever let this close. Her first kiss, her first everything. Kira had never let anyone else breach the walls she built around herself, never even allowed idle touches. A hand on her shoulder, a brush against her arm — she loathed it. 

But with Yumeko? Yumeko had touched her everywhere, done unspeakable things to her bare body, and Kira hadn’t just allowed it — she had wanted it. 

Craved it. 

Begged for more.

And that terrified her.

Because it wasn’t just sex anymore. At least, not for her. Each kiss left something behind, some sharp little splinter lodged deeper under her skin. Each time Yumeko left, Kira felt the hollow gnawing inside her grow wider, hungrier.

If she kept letting this happen, if she kept giving Yumeko her body so freely, she was going to lose herself. She could already feel the edges of her discipline fraying, the tight control her family drilled into her unraveling strand by strand.

It was madness.

It was weakness. 

It was Yumeko.

Kira looked at her then — looked at that infuriatingly radiant face, that mouth that had been the start of all this, those eyes that seemed to see straight through her armor. Her throat tightened.

“We have to stop.”

The words were low, almost hoarse, but final.

And in the silence that followed, Kira felt her heart pounding, not just from desire but from fear — fear of what Yumeko would do, what she would say, and worst of all… fear of what Kira herself might do if Yumeko pushed any further.

“Are you not in the mood?” Yumeko asked softly, her voice strangely careful. “That’s fine. We don’t need to do anything you don’t want.”

Kira shook her head. “No. I mean this—” Her hand flicked between them, as though the gesture could capture the mess of everything they’d been doing. “Us. It has to stop.”

For a second, Yumeko just stared at her, as though the words hadn’t fully sunk in. Then something shifted. The brightness in her expression dimmed, her smile faltering until her face almost looked… hurt.

“Why..?” Her voice was quieter than Kira expected.

“I—” The syllable caught in her throat, heavy and useless. She snapped her mouth shut again, because what was she supposed to say? That she was scared? That Yumeko made her feel too much? That it was easy to take off her clothes but impossible to bare her soul?

Kira swallowed hard. “It just has to.”

And then, forcing steel back into her voice, she added. “So you’re going to have to find someone else to bother with your… teenage hormones.”

The words tasted bitter, sickly. The moment they left her mouth, Kira wanted to spit them back out, to scrub her tongue raw. But worse than the taste was the thought that bloomed, uninvited and merciless: Yumeko with someone else.

Her stomach clenched so violently it hurt. The image crawled across her mind — Yumeko’s laugh in someone else’s ear, Yumeko’s body arching under someone else’s hands, Yumeko’s voice gasping out someone else’s name. The nausea was immediate, a sharp twist low in her gut that made her throat tighten as if she might really be sick.

No. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. That was exactly why she had to end it now.

Because what did it even mean — that she wanted to be the only one who touched Yumeko? The only one who got to pull those sounds out of her, who got to watch her unravel and glow and burn all at once? The thought was too much, too selfish, too terrifying. It didn’t feel like her, like something she would ever allow herself to feel.

Possessiveness like that didn’t belong here. Not in whatever this was. They never talked about it, never defined it, never gave it shape. They just fell into each other again and again, burning hours away in silence, pretending the morning wouldn’t come.

And Kira had no right. No right to demand anything, no right to ask, much less to whisper the thought that pressed so violently against the back of her teeth: be mine.

She almost gagged again. Just the idea of saying those words out loud felt grotesque and humiliating. And yet the ache in her chest wouldn’t leave.

Yumeko’s face contorted, pain flashing across her features before she could mask it. Her lips parted, trembling just slightly.

“So this was just… what?” She asked. Her voice cracked with an edge that Kira wasn’t used to hearing from her. “Sex?”

Kira forced herself to meet her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Yumeko laughed, but it wasn’t the playful, maddening laugh Kira knew. It was sharp, hollow, a brittle thing as she turned her gaze away.

She scoffed.

And in the silence that followed, Kira felt her own chest ache, though she told herself she had no right to that either.

“Fuck you, Kira.”

The words hit harder than a slap. Yumeko was already shifting, gathering herself to stand, when Kira’s hand snapped out and yanked her back. Offense burned across her face, too quick and too raw to hide.

“What did you say?” Kira’s voice was low, dangerous, trembling with more than just anger.

Yumeko’s eyes glistened, lips pressed tight until they broke apart with a crack in her voice. “It’s not just sex to me. So if I’m just a body to you, then you’re right. This has to end.”

The air in the room turned jagged. Yumeko tore herself free and stood, her movements rough, determined, and she was halfway to the door before Kira could think. But instinct beat thought — Kira launched forward and blocked the frame with her body, her back pressed against the wood.

“What are you saying?” Kira demanded, her chest heaving, her heart slamming against her ribs.

“Get out of the way, Kira.”

“No.” Kira’s tone sharpened, like glass. “You don’t get to blame me. You’re the one who only comes here for sex.”

“That’s not the only reason I come here!” Yumeko’s voice cracked, breaking the tension wide open.

Kira scoffed, the sound crueler than she intended. “Then why else? For what? My room’s overly low temperature you hate?”

“God, you!” Yumeko nearly shouted, hands clenched at her sides. “I come here for you!”

The silence that followed wasn’t silence at all — it roared in Kira’s ears, drowned her thoughts, left her staring at Yumeko as though she’d spoken in a language Kira had never heard.

“…What?” The word left her lips before she could stop it, breathless, confused.

Yumeko shook her head, hard, as if denying her own words, her whole body stiff with the effort of keeping herself together. She turned, pushing against Kira’s arm, and Kira — still stunned, still reeling — forgot she was supposed to block her. She stumbled aside.

And Yumeko was already halfway out the door before it hit Kira.

No.

No, she couldn’t let her leave.

Her body moved before her brain caught up, and she grabbed Yumeko’s wrist, yanking her back inside. The door slammed, the lock clicked, and the room shrank again, leaving nothing but their ragged breaths.

“Let me go.” Yumeko spat, twisting against Kira’s grip.

“No.” Kira’s voice broke, not with anger this time, but desperation. She tightened her hold, her eyes searching Yumeko’s face as though the answer might be carved into her skin. “What do you mean… me?”

“What else do you think it means?” Yumeko snapped, her voice raising, eyes wide and wet. She wrenched at Kira’s grip, but Kira only held tighter.

“Don’t.” Kira growled, dragging her closer. “Don’t try to use that smart mouth on me now. You don’t get to say something like that and then twist it into a joke.”

“It’s not a joke!” Yumeko’s words tore out of her, breathless, too close to a sob.

“Then what the hell is it?” Kira demanded, her tone sharp, her jaw set. She hated how desperate she sounded, how much she needed the answer. “Because all you’ve ever done is come here, crawl into my bed, rile me up, and then leave like it means nothing!”

Yumeko shoved at her shoulder, hard, but Kira didn’t move. “You think this is nothing to me?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Kira shot back. “All we do is fuck on that bed.”

“Because you—” Yumeko bit herself off, shaking her head, her whole body trembling under the strain.

“Because I what?” Kira pushed, her voice rising with her heart rate, breath ragged now. “Say it.”

Yumeko’s lip trembled, her teeth sinking into it as though she could bite the words back, as though they’d kill her if they came out. Her hands curled into fists against Kira’s chest, not pushing this time, just clenching, shaking, digging into the fabric of her shirt.

“I hate you.” Yumeko choked, voice sharp and broken at once. Her eyes shone, brimming with everything she refused to let spill. “Let me go.”

Kira froze when the words hit her — I hate you. For a second, her chest felt like it had been gutted open, hollowed clean through.

Hate…

That was supposed to be familiar. Hate, she could handle. She’d grown up knowing nothing else. But when it came from Yumeko, when it slipped from her lips trembling, it cut deeper than she wanted to admit.

Her grip tightened around Yumeko’s wrist until Yumeko winced, and Kira leaned in, teeth gritted. “Say that again.”

Yumeko’s eyes flashed, glassy with defiance. “I hate you.”

The words sliced Kira open, raw and unbearable, but they set fire to her veins at the same time. She dragged Yumeko forward, mouth colliding with hers in a violent, bruising kiss. There was no gentleness, no caution — just pent up tension erupting all at once. Their teeth clashed, breath mingling in sharp bursts, tongues fighting for dominance.

Kira shoved Yumeko hard against the door, pinning her there with her weight. The wood rattled, but neither of them cared. Her hands were ruthless, clawing at Yumeko’s clothes, tugging at the straps, dragging fabric down with a kind of desperation that almost bordered on anger.

Yumeko gasped into her mouth, her voice breaking against Kira’s lips.“I hate you.”

Kira groaned low in her throat, kissing her harder, her body surging forward until there wasn’t a breath of space between them.

“Good.” She hissed against her mouth, biting her lip before crashing in again. “Then hate me more.”

Her palm skimmed down Yumeko’s side, rough and possessive, mapping the familiar curves like she was trying to brand them into her memory. The other hand tangled in Yumeko’s hair, yanking her head back so she could drag her mouth down her throat.

Kira pressed her thigh between Yumeko’s legs, forcing it upward with a brutal kind of insistence. Yumeko bucked against her without thinking, a strangled moan slipping out before she could choke it down.

The sound made Kira’s restraint shatter entirely. She ground her leg harder, her hand sliding beneath Yumeko’s top, fingers splaying across bare skin, greedy and unyielding.

Still, Yumeko’s breath hitched as she gasped against Kira’s ear, voice trembling but unrelenting. “I hate you—”

And it only drove Kira further, rougher, hungrier. Because if this was hate, then fine — she’d take it. She’d make Yumeko hate her so much she couldn’t breathe without her.

The kiss tore apart only because Kira needed more. She yanked at Yumeko’s pants, tugging them down with no care for gentleness.

Yumeko gasped against her mouth in protest, but Kira didn’t give her the chance to follow it through — she spun her around, pressing her chest to the door so hard the wood rattled.

Kira’s hands seized Yumeko’s hips, dragging them back into her own body with a force that made Yumeko stumble forward, palms braced flat against the door. Kira didn’t pause — didn’t let her breathe — before she ripped Yumeko’s underwear aside, the sound of tearing fabric loud, final.

The heat between Yumeko’s thighs hit her instantly, slick and undeniable. Kira swallowed hard, her jaw tight, her chest heaving against Yumeko’s back. 

So wet already. 

Her own thoughts mocked her restraint, shredding what was left of her control.

She bent low, pressing her mouth to Yumeko’s neck, biting and kissing the skin until Yumeko squirmed. One hand explored her, sliding through that wetness, circling and pressing with deliberate cruelty. 

Yumeko’s breath broke into short, jagged gasps, her cheek against the door as her body arched into Kira’s touch despite every word she’d spat just moments before.

Kira’s lips hovered by her ear, whispering against flushed skin as her fingers worked lower, harder. “Say you hate me all you want…” She growled softly, dragging her tongue along the shell of Yumeko’s ear. “But your body sure doesn’t.”

Her hand tightened on Yumeko’s hip, pulling her flush against her own body, while her fingers explored deeper, coaxing out more of those trembling sounds she craved.

The door rattled violently under the force of Kira’s thrusts, each slam of Yumeko’s hips into the wood making it creak in protest, like at any moment the hinges might tear free. Kira barely cared. 

Yumeko’s cheek was pressed flat against the door, her lips parted as she gasped and whimpered. Kira could see her eyes rolling back, her expression caught somewhere between bliss and defiance.

“I hate you.” Yumeko moaned, her voice breaking as her body shuddered.

Kira’s jaw clenched, her movements sharper, harder, punishing. Every time Yumeko tried to speak, Kira drove into her deeper, slamming her against the wood until the unfinished words dissolved into incoherent cries.

“You hate me?” Kira muttered, her voice low, rough against Yumeko’s ear as she pressed her chest to her back, never slowing the pace. “Then why do you sound like this? Why are you dripping all over my hand?”

Her fingers stroked Yumeko’s clit faster, relentless, while her thrusts made the door shudder so hard it sounded like it would give way.

Yumeko’s moans grew louder, sharp, broken — shamelessly loud enough that anyone on the other side of the door could’ve heard. Kira knew she should care, she should pull back, silence her, but she couldn’t. Not when Yumeko’s body was unraveling under her touch, not when every sound of pleasure that spilled out of her was another rope tying Kira tighter, dragging her deeper into obsession.

In that moment, nothing mattered but tearing Yumeko apart completely, until there was nothing left between them but raw need.

Yumeko’s body was trembling so violently Kira had to tighten her hold to keep her upright. Her nails clawed at the door, desperate for something to ground herself, but every sharp slam of Kira broke her balance all over again. The wood creaked, rattling in its frame like it might collapse beneath them both, but Kira only pressed harder, faster, merciless.

“I— ah— I fucking hate you!” Yumeko cried, the words spilling from her lips like they were the only anchor she had left, her cheek dragging against the wood as her head rolled back.

Kira’s mouth curved into a dark, hungry smile against her neck. Hate. That’s what Yumeko said with her lips. But her body — the way it clenched around Kira’s fingers, the way she shattered over and over under her hand — told the truth better than any words could.

“You can hate me with all you got.” Kira whispered, her breath hot against Yumeko’s ear, her tone equal parts cruel and desperate as she rubbed her clit harder, faster. “But you’ll still keep coming for me tonight.”

And Yumeko did. Again and again, her body convulsing against the door until her knees nearly buckled, her cries filling the room, raw and broken. 

Each time she gasped out that hateful refrain — I hate you, I hate you — Kira only drove into her harder, as though she could carve herself into Yumeko’s body, brand herself into every nerve until there was nothing left but her.

And when Yumeko last fell apart completely, boneless and wrecked, Kira smiled against the skin of her throat, triumphant. Hate or not, Yumeko belonged to her in this moment.

Kira pulled back, chest heaving, Yumeko’s body still quivering against the door. For a moment she just stared at her — her flushed skin, the strands of hair sticking to her damp cheeks, the way her lips trembled as if she wanted to curse Kira again but didn’t have the strength. 

A rare swell of tenderness threatened to pierce through the haze of lust, and before Yumeko could collapse entirely, Kira scooped her up.

Yumeko didn’t protest, too weak to fight it now. Kira carried her across the room and laid her carefully on the bed, then slipped in beside her. For a long while, neither spoke. They just lay there, staring at the ceiling, their breath the only sound.

Kira could still feel the echo of Yumeko’s body against her hands, her lips, her everything. And yet — silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Eventually, Yumeko shifted, gathering the scraps of her strength to sit up, to leave — because of course she would.

But Kira’s hand shot out before she could get far, fingers wrapping around Yumeko’s wrist, holding tight.

“Stay.” She whispered, her voice cracking against the weight of everything she never let herself say. A pause, then softer, more fragile. “Please.”

Yumeko froze. Her eyes, glassy from exhaustion, flicked down to Kira. For a suspended moment, all the air in the room seemed to vanish, the space between them sharp and unbearably delicate.

And then, without a word, Yumeko let herself slip back beneath the sheets, curling into the warmth beside Kira.

Kira exhaled slowly, her grip easing but never quite letting go, terrified that if she blinked, Yumeko would vanish again.

Yumeko’s voice was quiet when she said it, but it landed like a knife all the same. “I meant it.”

Kira blinked, caught off guard. “…What?”

Yumeko turned her head slightly on the pillow, not quite looking at her, but not looking away either. “It’s not just sex. Not to me.”

Kira froze. Silence closed around her, thick and suffocating, because what could she even say to that? 

Her heart thudded loud enough that she thought Yumeko might hear it. She felt Yumeko’s body shift, her warmth pulling just out of reach as she rolled onto her side, her back curving away. 

And for one awful heartbeat, Kira thought she was going to leave again. But she didn’t. She stayed on the bed. That fact alone made Kira want to cry with relief.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” Kira finally managed, her voice hoarse.

“Now you do.” Yumeko said, calm but sharp. A pause followed, thick with all the unsaid things between them, before Yumeko whispered. “So what are you gonna do about that?”

Kira’s mouth went dry. She wanted to say something definitive, something clever, something that would give her control of the moment again — but nothing came. Instead, what came out was clumsy, broken. “I— do you want us to… stop?”

“No.” Yumeko’s answer was immediate. Fierce. “But I also don’t want to keep doing this with someone who’s only in it for sex.”

The words burned. Kira pushed herself up on an elbow, staring down at Yumeko’s silhouette in the dark. “I’m not… that’s—” Her throat caught, but she forced the words out, her chest aching. “That’s why I said we had to stop.”

That finally made Yumeko turn toward her, eyes gleaming faintly in the low light. For a long moment, she just looked at Kira, searching her face. Kira swallowed hard. 

“I can’t just—” She broke off, struggling for the right words, the truth that clawed at her. “I can’t just see you come apart for me, feel you shatter against me, and pretend it didn’t matter. I can’t kiss you and then pretend it was nothing. I can’t let you touch me like that and then pretend I don’t still feel it hours after.”

The confession left her trembling. She hated how raw she sounded. How bare.

Yumeko’s eyes softened, but her voice cut anyway. “Then why would you think I was only in this for sex?”

“Because you never stayed.” Kira shot back, too quickly, too defensive.

There was a silence, and then Yumeko said, softer than before. “Because I didn’t want to overstep if you didn’t want me here.”

The words sank in like a weight dropped into her chest. Kira’s whole body went cold. It had never been about Yumeko wanting to leave. It was about her. Kira had always kept that wall between them, even as she gave Yumeko everything else — her body, her time, her hunger. 

She had kept the smallest, cruelest distance so Yumeko wouldn’t see how badly she needed her. And Yumeko… Yumeko had simply respected that wall. She left because Kira had made her believe she should.

A lump rose in Kira’s throat, too big to swallow. She reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped Yumeko’s cheek. The warmth of her skin was grounding, terrifying, and necessary all at once. 

“Don’t go.” Kira whispered.

And in that moment, she knew Yumeko understood. Kira wasn’t just saying tonight. She wasn’t asking her to stay until the morning out of convenience or politeness.

She was saying she didn’t want her gone, not ever. That she needed her right here, right beside her.

It was unbearable, the way her chest ached with it. 

But it was the truth.

Kira’s hand slid around Yumeko’s waist, pulling her closer until there was barely an inch of space between them. Her pulse hammered at the sheer proximity, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Yumeko’s eyes held hers with that same daring brightness as always, but softer now, softened into something that almost felt fragile.

Yumeko leaned in first, her lips brushing against Kira’s with a gentleness that stunned her. The kiss wasn’t hungry, wasn’t desperate. It didn’t claw at her or demand anything. It was just there — quiet, steady, grounding. For once, their bodies weren’t speaking for them. Their mouths weren’t seeking to devour but to reassure. And for a fleeting, dizzying moment, Kira allowed herself to sink into it. To believe she could exist in this stillness with Yumeko.

When they pulled apart, Kira’s chest was heaving as though she’d run miles. She hated how unsteady her voice sounded when she rasped. “You only come here to sleep with me.”

Yumeko didn’t flinch. Her reply was steady. “No. I told you. I come here for you.”

Kira shook her head, bitter at the ache in her chest. “Which always ends in us—” She glanced down at the sheets, unable to help herself. “—naked, in this bed – most of the time.”

Yumeko didn’t meet her eyes. She looked down instead, her voice small but certain. “I thought that’s what you wanted… Every time I come here, you look at me like you want all my clothes gone. And so I let you. Because I just… I just want to be with you. And if that’s what you wanted, I was giving it to you. However you wanted. However many times you wanted.”

The words landed like glass in Kira’s chest, cutting as they sank in. She thought back — those countless nights, Yumeko letting her do whatever she pleased, letting her take until she was wrung out and trembling, letting her stay until Yumeko could no longer form words. And all this time, Yumeko thought it was Kira’s appetite being indulged, nothing more.

“That’s because…” Kira’s voice faltered, then steadied. “That’s because I thought that was all you wanted.”

There was a moment’s silence before Yumeko laughed softly. A weak, cracked little sound that still managed to fill the room. “Can we just agree we both had the wrong idea?”

And Kira couldn’t help it — her lips tugged into a smile, fragile but real. She nodded. Then, without thinking, she tugged Yumeko into her chest, guiding her head until it rested there, the weight of her warm and steady. Yumeko didn’t resist. Her nose buried into Kira’s neck, her breath fanning over her collarbone, and the closeness was so simple, so quiet, it nearly undid her.

Kira’s hand stayed at Yumeko’s waist, clutching just tightly enough to anchor herself. Her thoughts unraveled in the silence. 

She won and lost at the same time. 

Won, because Yumeko was here. Because Yumeko would stay. She could finally believe that now.

But she had lost, too. Because she’d surrendered something she’d sworn to never let go of — her composure, her distance, the coldness she’d always thought was her strength. She had given in to the most human instinct of all: the need to be wanted.

She couldn’t excuse their nights together as just sex anymore. Not when Yumeko’s words still echoed in her ears. Not when this — the warmth of Yumeko pressed into her front, her breath soft and even, her presence unguarded — felt infinitely more intimate than anything they had done with their bodies.

Kira stared at the ceiling, fingers tightening just slightly at Yumeko’s hip. 

What did that make her? A failure of an heir? A contradiction to everything she was raised to be? An unworthy daughter, too weak to keep her emotions caged?

The questions were heavy, suffocating. But even as they circled her mind, her other hand rose almost instinctively to cradle the back of Yumeko’s head, holding her there, as if daring anyone — herself included — to pry her away.

For now, she’d let the storm of questions wait. For now, she would allow herself this fragile peace. This quiet. This intimacy she’d never known she craved.

Even after everything they’d done to each other’s bodies, this still felt like the most intimate thing she’d ever shared with anyone.