Kai:
You've been watching, haven't you?
I swallow too hard. I shouldn't be surprised—this is just Kai being Kai, stating something calmly enough that it becomes a verdict. But the adrenaline that's coursing through my veins is sickening.
I could text him back; I could do what I usually do and feign that I'm perfectly stable enough not to watch a stupid dot on a map, stable enough not to have to be told what to do, secure enough not to need Kai so badly that my body screams when he's not near me.
But, I'm past it.
I'm past pretending Kai doesn't know how I feel. Past pretending that whatever excuse or explanation he has will change the way I'm falling for him.
Fuck.
That's the worst part. It's as if my body already knows that the more I learn about him, the tighter the leash, the heavier the shackles he has over me. Fear should be enough to stop me, but it only makes me want to lean into him. There's something intoxicating about understanding him, about being close enough to see the machinery beneath the surface.
My thumb hits call before I can talk myself out of it. My heart is beating so fast, I feel lightheaded.
The ringing trills through the speaker, loud in a way that makes my pulse jump. I pace across the room, then stop, then pace again because I can't stay still.
"Anri."
There's road noise under his voice, the hum of his car.
My throat turns dry. "Turn your camera on."
There's a pause. I can hear Kai's indicator click, then stop.
"Not while I'm driving."
"I don't care," I snap, and I hate how cracked it sounds. "I need to see you."
Kai's voice drops half an octave. "Then wait until I'm home." The calm in his voice makes me want to shake him through the phone. It also makes me want to obey, which is its own kind of humiliation.
I huff out a breath, making sure he can hear. "Dōgenzaka."
Kai doesn't answer fast enough, and I immediately feel pissed off. This gives him time to calculate an answer and make the ordeal sound innocent.
"Kai," I snap, again. "Dōgenzaka."
I can hear his breathing, which should be a comfort, but every agonising second that Kai doesn't give me an answer makes my throat burn.
"Are you alone?" he asks finally.
"What?"
"Answer," he says quietly, which is worse than if he were angry.
My stomach flips. The question is practical. But this is what he does, and I like it most of the time. I like it when he cares and commands, takes charge of areas of my life in a way that should make me feel unnerved. But if he wants to continue, I need more. I need him to be real.
"Kai," I try to keep my voice steady on purpose, but I'm shaking. Not in a theatrical sense, there's a buzz underneath my skin that makes my muscles ache, and I feel a chill even though it's the middle of June. "I'm—alone. But—" So much for keeping my voice steady when my teeth are chattering between my words.
"You're shaking again," He murmurs. "Lock your door."
"You don't get to do that!" I bite out with something close to venom in my voice, even though he's right—he's always fucking right. "Don't ignore my question and start giving me instructions like—like I'm—"
"Like you're mine," he says so flatly I almost stop breathing.
Blood swells in my ears. My pulse feels hot, then cold, then hot again, as if my body can't decide what it wants to do with that.
He doesn't let that statement sit.
"Don't record," Kai adds abruptly.
"You're insane." I huff out a laugh with no humour.
"No recording." He says again.
My fingers tighten around the phone. "You're being paranoid."
"I'm being careful," he corrects. Is there even a difference? Kai seems to think it matters in a way that makes my stomach curl. "Say you understand."
I clamp my teeth together. "I understand." I hate that my voice softens beyond my control.
"Good." It's unfair that he sounds so in control when my heart is in my throat, and my lungs feel like they're about to cave in.
I hear his indicator click again. I imagine his hands on the wheel. I imagine what I'm not seeing.
"Kai. Please." I shouldn't be begging for his honesty. I shouldn't need answers. It shouldn't matter. It matters so fucking much that it makes something cold settle in my chest. He can probably hear it in my voice—that whatever I'm waiting for from him has already taken hold of me. "Why did you go back?"
Kai sighs loud enough for me to hear over the phone. "You already know why," he says.
"No. I don't. Akio took me there," I say, and my words start spilling faster. "That night. He—he was going to—you were there. You stopped it. And you went back there again, so tell me what you're doing, because I'm not sleeping until you do."
"Don't say his name," he answers coldly.
"What?"
"No names over the phone. Just mine."
"What did you do?" I whisper.
"He won't touch you again," Kai says, and there's a quiet finality in it that makes my stomach lurch.
I should feel safer. I do. It makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time.
"You can't promise that," I manage.
"I can," Kai replies, like he's stating a fact, not offering comfort. "I'm not giving you details over the phone."
"You did something to him," I say, and it's not a question. Why else would he be so wary of what we're saying over the phone?
"Yes," he says it so bluntly that it almost doesn't sink in.
I take another cigarette and light it before my brain gives the instruction. My thumb taps the speaker button so I can reopen the map and still listen.
"When will you be home?" I take a long drag, savouring the way it scratches the back of my throat and forces me to take a steady breath.
"Seven minutes," he replies, and the fact that he's that precise would be endearing if my gut wasn't turning itself inside out. "Don't hang up," he says, and it's not a request.
"I won't," I mutter. I'm almost offended that he'd suggest I would even hang up on him. As if he doesn't know that asking is unnecessary—that he already has my attention, my patience, my silence.
Kai stays quiet after that. I can hear the air change around him, the sound of him getting out of his car, the clinking of his keys, the sound of a keypad being accessed.
I check his location pin. I feel like a stalker because I want to know where he lives. But if he didn't want me to see, he wouldn't be showing me. My thumb zooms in on the pin, my pulse hot against my throat. Central Shibuya. Not even far from Shibuya Crossing. Holy shit. I can't fathom it. It's one thing to have a nice car when you're a student. It's one thing to be able to buy yourself a brand-new phone, but it's another to have enough to go around to buy another phone for me, and it's a whole other ballpark to be nineteen living in Central Shibuya.
He might be living with family. Stop assuming things. Or maybe he lives alone but got lucky and lives in an inexpensive 1LDK.
I hear what sounds like a door closing on Kai's end. "I'm home," his voice cuts through my pondering. I can hear fabric rustling as if he's removing layers, something heavy hitting a countertop, and a faucet running, then stopping. "FaceTime. Now."
The call transitions seamlessly, and suddenly, I can't breathe again.
The screen is black for half a second, just long enough for me to feel nervous about seeing him. The first thing I notice is that he's shirtless, not in a posed way; the camera is only showing his face—cut off at his collarbone—and his hair looks wet and messy, like he ran water through it and didn't bother finishing the job.
"Kai," I murmur, immediately regretting it when I can see the small preview of my face on my phone. My hair looks messy, I look like I've seen a ghost, and a meticulous camera angle isn't enough for me to hide the way I'm desperate—not in a pathetic way—a human kind of longing for truths that are long overdue.
Then I see a scratch, just a small cut beside his lip. It wasn't there before—I should know, staring at his face is basically my occupation.
I feel concerned, a cold, hard drop in my stomach—imagining hands, an altercation, a struggle—but Kai is home; he looks undone, yet the expression on his face is cold, unbothered, as if this is just a normal Friday night for him.
Then, as if my body is determined to humiliate me, heat lights up underneath the concern—sudden and uninvited heat—because Kai looks like he's been in an altercation and still came home, still let me call him, all while he's holding himself together with clenched teeth.
It makes me wish there wasn't a stupid screen. Makes me wish there weren't roads between being able to kiss him when he's like this.
I shouldn't be thinking about any of that.
Kai's walking through his apartment, leaving what appears to be a huge kitchen—all dark colours and moody lighting—then a hallway, passing a door, until he reaches what looks like his bedroom, but he doesn't stop there, he pushes open another door until I hear the air change again, like he's outside, a balcony light flickers catching on both colours of his eyes.
Then he lights a cigarette before finally letting out a long breath. I see the drop of his shoulders as if he can finally take off his armour now that he's in his space.
Then he switches to the back camera, his phone pointing over the railing, out into the view of the city. It looks like what westerners think of when you say 'Tokyo'—neon-lit, skyline apartments and buildings so tall that you can see them far off in the distance, all cramped together, no room to breathe in a city that never sleeps, yet somehow lonely enough to hide in plain sight.
"Do you like the view?" Kai asks. He's so annoying—as if he thinks he can distract me with pretty lights and smooth words.
"Mm. It's nice," I say. I take a long drag of my own cigarette to keep my voice steady. "I liked the other view more."
Kai exhales smoke, and I hear it more than I see it. "You're too sharp for your own good, do you know that?" he says, and there's a hint of mild irritation in the way he says it, as if he's not used to feeling cornered.
He switches back to the front camera. His face fills the screen again, the angle tight enough that I can see the damp strands of hair. His collarbone is sharp under the balcony light, and the scratch on his lip looks worse when I look at it head-on—it almost looks wrong on him—the kind of mark that shouldn't exist on someone who's as careful as him. But there's something unhinged and smug about the way I can't help but relish that he's destructible—cold and vitreous. Glass shatters when you apply the right amount of pressure.
"Say what you want to say," he murmurs.
The permission makes my throat close up. "You're hurt," I say, bluntly, because if I don't, I'm going to start saying things I can't take back.
His thumb swipes over the cut, cigarette glowing between his fingers. "It's nothing," he says, and the fact that he's smirking at his own words has me clenching my fist. I catch his hand in the frame, then do a double-take. His knuckles are bloody—scraped raw as if he hurt himself more by trying to wash away the evidence.
"Don't do that!" I snap before I can soften it. "Don't act like I'm stupid. Or like I'm going to let you brush it off at my expense, when you're the one who pulled me in—" I snarl. My words taste bitter. "Don't flinch when I scratch beneath the surface."
Kai's jaw flexes. His neck stiffens, then his shoulders as if he's bracing for impact without meaning to. He keeps his eyes where I can see them—not looking away, not trying to soften his expression—as if my virulence finally piqued his attention.
For once, he's not immediately correcting me. He takes one long, final drag of his cigarette instead, and the smoke leaves him in a slow stream as if he can exhale the whole night out of his body.
The camera jostles as he moves, the balcony light dropping away behind him. I catch glimpses of his bedroom, bare walls, clean lines, space that doesn't look lived in so much as maintained.
Kai sets his phone down, intentionally propped at an angle where I can see the edge of his bed before he disappears from the frame.
Then he steps back into view—so casually it should make me irritated—changed into black sweatpants that hang low enough to show a hint of his hip bone, the defined muscles of his abs and V-line, the sharp angle of his obliques, the faint trail of hair underneath his navel.
I watch the muscles in his stomach and shoulders shift as he moves, my tongue involuntarily darting out to lick my bottom lip—just to keep my mouth busy.
Kai sits on the bed, closer to the camera than he needs to be, elbows resting lightly on his thighs.
His hands are in view now.
Not fully, not offered—just there. Scraped knuckles, fingers that look too steady for what they've done.
His gaze lifts to mine through the screen.
"Set your phone down," he says, and the command lands straight to my core. "Angle it so I can see your hands."
My throat tightens. "Why?"
"Because I said so," Kai replies, and there's a low edge under it, not anger—control. "And because you're going to start shaking again if you keep holding it."
I hate that he's right.
I shift to sit on my bed, phone in my hand, suddenly feeling too small, too hot. I prop it against my pillow, then adjust it, then adjust it again until the camera catches my lap and my hands when I lower them. It's ridiculous how intimate it feels, being told how to exist in frame.
"Like this?" I ask, trying to sound annoyed instead of exposed.
Kai watches the angle change like he's checking evidence.
"Good," he says quietly.
I sit back, shoulders tense, hands settling on my thighs where he can see them. My room feels too quiet. Too normal. The distance between us feels crueller now that we're both on our beds, mirrored like this.
Kai stays still on his side of the screen, eyes on me, breathing measured.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I try to keep my breathing shallow, the sudden closeness of it all making me feel hot in ways where I don't want to behave. What's worse is that he's looking right at me—albeit through a screen—he's probably observing the way my chest stutters on subdued breaths, the way my fingers twitch at my thighs as if I want to reach through the screen and touch him.
"Kai," I breathe. I want him so much that I'm almost reckless enough to tell him, to beg him to make me stop thinking and start feeling. But, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to earn his honesty. "Tell me…" I take a deep breath. "Tell me everything."
"Anri—" Kai exhales slowly. "I can't tell you everything tonight. It's too risky like this. I will tell you anything you want to know when it's safe—"
I hear myself scoff, as if I have a right to be angry at the answer, like I have the luxury of expecting answers when he's the one who's been keeping secrets. "No. That's not a good enough reason anymore." Kai's gaze is like a physical weight as it fixes on me. I swear, I can feel him looking straight through the screen like he can read me word for word. "You don't get to decide that. I'm involved now, whether you like it or not."
My hands reach off camera to pull my lockbox onto my bed.
"Anri. Hands where I can see." He demands.
"Wait—" I snap, reaching for the note with Mizuno's name before holding it up to the camera. "No names, right? This is an interesting name, though. You know…" My voice turns razor-sweet on purpose. Like this is an innocent conversation and not: Why the fuck do you know a murderer? "…I think I saw someone with that exact same name on the news. It must be a common name—"
Kai cuts me off. "Destroy it."
I scoff. "Or what? You gonna hurt me, too?"
Kai goes still. I expected him to take the bait, but he's just sitting there as if he's waiting for me to carry on attempting my bratty scheming.
"You know I wouldn't hurt you," he says cleanly with practised neutrality. "You want answers, don't you? Destroy that piece of paper in your hand. Right now."
I hold the piece of paper up and flick my lighter at the corner until the flame is convincing enough. The flame slowly engulfs the corner, spreading inwards. Ink turning to ash before I put the burning page in the empty can I was using to stub out my cigarettes.
He watches me the entire time, and it doesn't escape my attention how he can look at me like this, cold and calculating, and still manage to make my heart beat faster.
When it's nothing but blackened ash, I hold up the can for him to see. "There. Gone. Happy now?"
I roll my eyes at the semantics but can't help the scoff that escapes me. I hate that I can practically feel his gaze rake over my body through the screen, like he's analysing my reaction. I feel stripped, laid bare, and I can't figure out if it's because he's taking down my defences or if I'm just so desperate for him that I don't care anymore.
"Kai," I say. "Why did you have that piece of paper?"
"Tell me, why do you think I had it?" he asks quietly. "Let me see your hands. No recording."
I lift my hands again. "I'm not recording. You trust me, don't you?"
Kai exhales softly. "I trust you."
"I think…" I start—still holding my hands up—trying to keep my voice steady. "The name on that piece of paper was…" I swallow; my throat feels dry. "A loose end. The…incident that happened on Center Gai. I think you know something about that."
He doesn't reply. There's a moment where he just looks at me through the phone, then he runs a hand through his hair. His jaw clenches again—a barely-there gesture—like he can't help the way his body is responding to this. He seems to be considering something, a thought that has his jaw clenching, the muscle in his neck rippling with tension. I want to reach out and touch him—trace the tension down the column of his neck, as if I could just press my fingers there and smooth it away.
"Very good," Kai murmurs, finally. My heart stutters in my chest because fuck—why does he say it like he's praising me? As if he doesn't know what that does to me. "Loose end," he echoes back. "That's all I can tell you about M, right now."
'M'. Ryo Mizuno.
"Okay," I reply. "And what about tonight? You went back to the bar, and you come home with a cut lip—and look at your hands—what did you do to Ak—"
Kai stiffens. "Don't say his name," he growls.
"What did you do?" My voice wavers between accusation and something too close to awe.
"He touched you."
"That's not an answer."
Kai exhales sharply through his nose, thumb brushing over his split lip again, as if he's relishing the sting. "Made sure he understood the consequences of touching what doesn't belong to him." His tone is so chillingly matter-of-fact. "He had it coming."
I bite down hard on my lower lip to stop the traitorous shiver that runs down my spine at his possessiveness. "So he's…gone?"
"Permanently relocated," Kai corrects, leaning back just enough for the dim light to catch the satisfied gleam in his mismatched eyes. His fingers flex against his thighs—still bruised from whatever violence he doled out earlier. Then he tilts his head with half-lidded eyes as if he's gauging my reaction. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll have already packed his shit and left Tokyo. And that bar won't be reopening any time soon."
I grip the sheets on my bed to stop from fidgeting. His calmness—that infuriating, unbothered calmness—only makes my blood hotter. It just makes me more restless. It makes me hate myself, how much I want him to get under my skin—to react. I take a deep breath, then I let it out in a sharp huff that sounds like a laugh. That, at least, seems to get his attention.
"Kai," I murmur again, because I know his name sounds different rolling off my tongue. "Why are you so calm right now?"
Kai lets out a low hum as he watches me through the screen with that infuriatingly unreadable stare. His fingers twitch once against his thigh, the only tell that he's not as composed as he wants me to believe.
"Would you prefer if I weren't?" His voice is low and gravel-rough around the edges. He leans closer to the camera, close enough that I can see the way his pupils dilate when my breath catches. "Would it make you feel better if I lost control? If I told you exactly what I did to him—how hard I had to hit him before he understood what happens when someone dares to lay a finger on you?"
My pulse jumps in my throat.
Kai's lips curl, just slightly. "You want details?" He tilts his head, watching me squirm with something darkly amused in his gaze as if that carefully constructed calm of his cracks—just a fraction. "You want me to lose it? Fine." His voice drops dangerously low. "I smashed everything in that bar. You wouldn't even recognise the place. Or do you want me to tell you the best part?"
His chest rises faster now, that icy control slipping as his gaze keeps burning into mine through the screen.
"Tell me," I whisper. My breath comes too fast—not because I'm afraid, I should be afraid—heat pooling low in my stomach at the raw ferity in his voice, the way he looks at me like I'm worth destroying something over.
The corner of his mouth tilts into something too sharp to be a smile. "The best part was watching him choke and beg for his life when I shoved my gun down his throat," He throws his head back with a satisfied sigh. "Funny thing," he continues, voice dropping to a whisper. "How fast grown men start bargaining when they taste metal."
Gun? Kai has a gun.
So it's true. Kai is more than he presents himself to be. Someone dangerous enough to own a firearm—illegally, it has to be. Japan has some of the strictest gun laws in the world. He's dangerous enough to pull a gun on someone for trying to hurt me. Fuck. I shouldn't be indulging in the idea he'd hurt someone or even…kill someone for me.
I shouldn't be squirming at the notion. I should be running to the police and telling them that Mizuno links back to Kai. No! I'm not letting anyone take him away now that I have him right where I want him. My heart is beating so fast all of a sudden. I can't lose him. Not now. Not when I know how his lips taste. Not when I'm falling this hard.
Kai's words settle heavily in my room, and the distance between us is both a reprieve and a torment. Every breath feels too hot, as if every exhale is setting my blood on fire. I suddenly become hyper-aware of how my body is reacting, the way my fingers clench and unclench, the way my thighs shift and rub together almost involuntarily.
Kai tracks the movement, eyes narrowing. "Are you cold?" He asks, voice rough.
I bite the inside of my cheek, shaking my head. "No," I croak out, my throat feeling too tight. "I'm—no. I'm not cold."
Kai's jaw tightens, his gaze drops lower, lingering for a moment too long. "Then why are you squirming?"
Because you're driving me crazy. Because you don't even need to touch me for my body to react to you.
I glare down at my lap, stubbornly trying to will my body into controlling itself. I'm wearing shorts—if I move wrong, it's over.
I can feel his eyes burning through the screen. He's so unfair—he can just sit there with his shirt off, sweatpants hanging dangerously low—how am I supposed to play it cool when he's looking at me like that?
Worse still, it's through a screen. If he were here…
Is he going to just keep staring at me?
I should say something…
"Kai," Slips out of me in a breath I didn't realise I was holding.
He doesn't miss the way I'm trying not to fidget, which only makes me look like a puppy who just got caught stealing food.
"Anri," he murmurs. "Tell me what you want."
The words are so simple, but my mouth goes dry. I clench my teeth. "I—Ngh—"
"Ah-ah, use your words." His voice is dangerously smooth. "Try again."
I exhale through my nose, fingers curling into my sheets. Kai knows exactly what he's doing—if he's going to crack in front of me, he's dragging me down with him, and fuck—I want him to.
"I want—" My voice breaks. I swallow hard, forcing the words out before my pride swallows them back down. "I wish you could touch me."
There it is. The satisfaction in his expression is unbearable. "Where?"
Every muscle in my body locks up. The humiliation of spelling it out coils hot in my stomach. "…You know where," I mutter weakly.
His lips twitch into that infuriating smirk as he leans back against his arms, the motion stretching the defined lines of his torso—every dip and ridge of muscle.
"Tell me properly, Anri," He murmurs, leaning back even more. The angle exposes the cut of his hips, the flex of his abs as he shifts slightly. And fuck—his shoulders—the way they bracket his torso makes my mouth water. He's not all muscle; he's lean, fast on the soccer pitch, deceivingly strong, too. I've seen players try to take him down on the pitch only to get knocked on their ass from the impact. I can just imagine him effortlessly picking me up and— "Well?"
"F-fine," I choke out. My nails dig into my thighs hard enough to sting. "I want your hands on me—I want…ngh—" Fuck, saying it out loud is only making it worse. "I want you to touch my chest and…lower…I want your fingers…inside—"
Kai's exhale is ragged through the speaker, and I can't tell if that's what is making me shudder or if it's the words that just came out of my mouth. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" He rumbles. One of his hands drifts lower on the screen, fingertips tracing idle patterns along his waistband in a way that makes my breath hitch. "But you forgot something."
I whimper before I can stop myself. "…Please."
Kai's eyes pin me through the screen. "Good boy," he says, voice low.
My entire body goes taut—that praise is somehow so genuine that it has my heart thudding in my chest. He's never called me a good boy before, even though I've been wanting him to ever since we kissed.
I exhale shakily. "I wish you were here…" My voice sounds too small and needy when I murmur.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he grits out, running a hand through his hair as if he's trying to rein himself in. I can hear his breathing get harsher and see his chest rise faster through the screen. "If I were there with you right now, I wouldn't be able to control myself."
My entire body feels too hot, as if my skin has been set ablaze. I almost can't think beyond the sight of Kai's gaze raking over my skin. "Kai," My voice breaks on a shaky exhale. "Do you…Do you like me?"
My body immediately recoils from how stupid I sound.
Kai furrows his brows as he lets out a low hum. "Don't use that word," he answers.
I can feel my face heat, embarrassment warring in my gut. "Too pathetic for you?" I ask, barely above a whisper.
Something softens in his expression, almost as if I've hit a sore spot. "That word is too small," his voice almost too low through my phone's speaker.
I swallow, my pulse stuttering in my throat. I'm thrown off by the sudden vulnerability in his tone. "Then…what word should I use?" My voice barely makes it over the pounding pulse in my ears.
"Anri—" His voice is rough, almost pained. "You know fine well what word to use."
I swallow hard, fingers twisting in the sheets as his gaze holds mine hostage. The distance between us somehow feels charged with something dangerous—something that makes my ribs ache with how hard my heart slams against them.
"Say it," he demands quietly.
I want to give him exactly what he's asking for—to let this terrifying, exhilarating thing between us finally have a name—but the words stick in my throat like shards of glass when I see how wrecked he looks just from this conversation alone: lips parted around uneven breaths, pupils blown so wide his irises are nearly swallowed whole, every muscle tensed like he's one second away from snapping entirely if I don't answer correctly.
I whimper before I can stop myself—because his tone—it makes my stomach flip violently between defiance and sheer want—but stubbornness wins for exactly three seconds before I crack.
"...Yours," My voice breaks pathetically around the word.
His sharp inhale crackles through the speaker—like I've struck something raw. His fingers flex against his thigh, tension coiling visibly through every line of his body as he processes my answer.
"That's right," he murmurs, voice gone dangerously soft—almost reverent. His gaze darkens further, pupils swallowing the last remnants of colour in his eyes as he leans closer to the screen. "Mine." The word is a claim and a threat all at once. "Say it again."
I shiver violently at the command, at how effortlessly he turns my own admission into something possessive and punishing. My lips part around a shaky exhale before I obey—because I can't resist obeying when he sounds like that.
"Yours," I whisper, louder this time—and watch with dazed satisfaction as his control splinters entirely.
The noise Kai makes is downright feral before his hand vanishes off-screen with rough urgency, and suddenly this feels less like teasing and more like ruin in motion.
Kai shifts abruptly, adjusting the camera angle—and suddenly I can see exactly where his free hand has gone—the outline of his cock strained against black sweatpants, his palm pressing down in slow, deliberate strokes that make me dizzy.
My breath hitches. Without thinking, my own fingers drift lower—sneaking under the waistband of my shorts before I even realise what I'm doing. The second my fingertips brush against myself, it's as if lightning zips up my spine. My head falls back with a whimper as I mimic his movements shamelessly, mirroring each drag of his hand with one of my own while our gazes stay locked through the screen.
"Lift your shirt," he commands, voice rougher than before. "Slowly. Let me see you."
Kai's breath audibly catches as he watches my trembling fingers curl into the hem of my shirt. Every inch of fabric peeled upward feels like torture under his gaze—my ribs stuttering with uneven breaths, my stomach tensing as cool air brushes newly exposed skin. I hesitate when the material reaches high, suddenly hyper-aware of how vulnerable this makes me, but Kai's sharp inhale through gritted teeth has me obeying without thought. The soft fabric brushes over my sensitive nipples—a punched out moan escapes before I can stop it. The shirt catches briefly on the back of my neck before I tug it free completely and let it fall discarded beside me.
"…Like this?" I whisper.
His lips part around a soundless curse as his eyes drag over every visible inch of me—the flush creeping down my chest, the way my nipples pebble under his scrutiny, the faint tremors wracking my frame just from being watched like this. "Fuck," he rasps, hand moving more urgently over himself through his sweatpants now. "Look at you." The reverence in his voice is ruinous; I squirm under it like I can escape how deeply it sears into me.
His eyes darken a shade at my ragged exhale, his mouth opening on a slow breath as he takes in the sight of my flushed skin. "Remind me," His voice is still calm and low, but there's a rough edge of control starting to unravel. "Where do you want me to touch you, Anri? Show me."
Kai's breath catches as he watches my fingers trace the flushed skin of my abdomen, his gaze following every trembling movement with predatory focus.
I whine low in my throat, too far gone to care how pathetic I sound when I arch slightly under his scrutiny. "H-here," I gasp out, dragging my fingertips higher until they brush over peaked nipples—sensitive and aching for attention. My back bows off the bed at the contact, a choked noise escaping me as I watch Kai's jaw clench hard enough to strain the tendons in his neck.
"Good," he grits out—like the word is being ripped from him. His own hand moves with deliberate slowness over his sweatpants, mirroring where mine lingers on oversensitive skin. "Show me how much you need it."
"Like this?" I pant, rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger with deliberate slowness—just to watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. The choked sound he makes is fucking delicious, all ragged edges and barely restrained hunger.
Kai exhales sharply through his nose, grip tightening where he palms himself over sweatpants. "Again," he orders—voice so wrecked it sends another jolt of heat straight to my already aching cock. "Harder."
I moan openly at the command, pinching roughly this time just to see him snap—just to prove I can unravel him too if I try hard enough. I whimper from the pleasure-pain. His answering growl vibrates through the speaker like a physical touch, and suddenly, all I can think about is how much better his mouth would feel than my own clumsy fingers.
Kai's fingers curl into the waistband of his sweatpants with deliberate slowness—taunting me with the anticipation of it. My breath catches as he drags the fabric down inch by agonising inch, revealing toned thighs first, then the sharp V of his hips—
And then—
Oh.
My mouth goes dry. Kai's cock springs free—thick, flushed, wet at the tip already, curving slightly upwards like he's mocking me for how hard I'm shaking just from looking. A strangled noise claws its way out of my throat before I can stop it—half frustration, half awe—because of course he'd be endowed like this.
"Fuck," I wheeze out, fingers twitching against my own neglected skin like I don't even know where to touch myself now that I have that burned into my retinas. "You—seriously?" The words come out embarrassingly high-pitched as my brain short-circuits between envy and sheer want.
Kai smirks at my reaction like he was waiting for it, lazily stroking himself once just to watch me squirm harder. "Problem?" His voice is all rough amusement, but his grip tightens when my teeth sink into my lower lip involuntarily.
I glare weakly through the screen even as heat floods south so fast it makes me dizzy. "Just…shut up," I mutter before shamelessly raking my gaze over him again because fuck, who could blame me? The way his hand barely fits around himself—the sticky bead already gathering at the tip—I swallow hard and try to sound unaffected. "…Show-off."
My hands start shaking as I push the waistband of my shorts down, heart pounding wildly in my chest at the sound of my own ragged breathing. I'm too caught up in the way Kai's looking at me—gaze roving over my slowly-exposed skin—to even think about how I might look to him right now. But I notice his jaw clench, the way his hand tightens around himself like he's struggling to show restraint, and it suddenly hits me how exposed I feel.
I kick my shorts off finally before I feel self-conscious—one arm crossing over my stomach in a useless attempt to hide how hard I am. I probably look so embarrassing right now. What if I look stupid?
"Anri," Kai's voice cuts through the speaker. "Let me see you."
I almost whine at the command. I want this. I want him.
I kneel on my bed, legs slightly parted, uncovering myself with trembling fingers—skin flushing pink under Kai's scorching gaze. My cock twitches against my stomach, leaking already just from being watched like this. I know I'm not as big as him—but flushed and straining with need all the same, the tip glossy with precum that smears when my thighs press together reflexively. My hips are narrow, waist dipping in where his hands would span easily if he were here to touch me. The jut of my collarbones trembles with each shaky breath, ribs visible beneath thin skin as I force myself not to hunch over despite the heat crawling up my neck.
"No one's ever seen me like this," My voice comes out so weak and small that I almost cringe. But I can't help it—I suddenly feel so vulnerable just kneeling here. The way he's looking at me like he's two seconds from losing his mind isn't helping—his mismatched eyes dark and hungry as he watches me shifting on my knees, fingers gripping the edges of the mattress to keep myself grounded under his unblinking gaze. The way he's looking at me makes my pulse stutter. "K-Kai…I…you're staring—" The words dissolve into another whimper—no one has ever looked at me like this before—as if he'd ruin himself just to ruin me right back.
"You think I'd look away when you're finally letting me see how pretty you are? You're perfect," The roughness in his tone sends another full-body shiver through me. His thumb circles over the tip of his cock. "Fuck—every noise you make, every time you squirm? That's mine now."
I whine high in my throat, hips jerking involuntarily at the sheer ownership in his voice—at how effortlessly he turns my vulnerability into something that feels wanted instead of just exposed. My fingers trail across my stomach because I know he wants to watch me fall apart slowly under his command—I want to give him everything.
I bite my lip, the need for some friction already unbearable as I shift on my knees to try and find some sort of relief. My mouth goes dry when his gaze dips lower, eyes narrowing as if he can tell what I'm thinking by the way my cock twitches against nothing. "Can I…Can I touch myself?"
Kai's breath audibly catches at my question. "Only if you let me see you," he manages, low and rough. "Show me where you want to be touched…"
His approval sends a visible shudder through me. The second he gives me permission, my hands are already moving—shaky fingers fumbling for the lube bottle in my lockbox. The click of the cap sounds obscene amid the late-night hush of my room. I glance up at Kai through my lashes. His entire body looks tensed to a breaking point just from watching me prepare, jaw clenched tight enough that I can see the tendons strain in his neck.
Slowly—so slowly it feels like torture—I let myself sink back against the headboard. I hesitate, only for a second, before spreading my legs. A fresh wave of heat floods my face when I realise how exposed I am like this, knees falling open almost instinctively before catching myself and faltering.
Kai makes a rough noise in the back of his throat at the aborted movement, fingers flexing where they're wrapped around his cock. "Wider," he demands gruffly—no room for argument in that tone, despite how wrecked he sounds already.
I obey immediately, spreading wider for his gaze. It's both embarrassing and thrilling to be in this position for him, under his scrutiny. He watches me spread a generous amount of lube onto my fingertips before teasing my hole with slicked fingers.
"Fuck—you've done this before," he accuses.
Heat crawls up my neck. "…Only once," I admit.
Kai lets out a ragged breath, his hand pausing just for a second at my confession. "When?" The word comes out too sharp, as if he's desperate to know.
"Last Monday," I manage, my voice cracking around the words—and the fact I remember is its own kind of humiliation. My face is burning, and I can't bring myself to look at him directly through the screen to see if he looks as wrecked as I feel. "You…" I pause, trying to find the words to explain the way he made my entire body ache just from getting too close to me. A soft smile curves at my lips when I remember how bratty I was acting when I showed up to soccer practice—still injured—just to get him riled up, only to realise I flew too close to the sun. "…You had me so worked up, I couldn't stop thinking about how good your hands would feel on me, and—ahh" I let out a soft gasp as my hole flutters in anticipation from the absent-minded teasing of my fingers.
Kai curses softly under his breath. "Mm. I remember. I was getting you that worked up, was I?" His tone is teasing, but his voice gives him away—I can hear the ragged edge of his own hunger in it. "What did you do about it?" His voice is pure gravel—dark and demanding in a way that makes my cock twitch.
I whimper, fingers pausing their teasing circles—just to see if he'll grow impatient. "I—I went home like you told me to and—" My breath hitches as I press a slick fingertip inside shallowly. It feels different from before—there's still a slight burning stretch—it feels good—good enough to instinctively push my finger deeper. "Hah—I thought about your hands pinning me down while you—fuck—" The stretch burns deliciously when I move my finger with slow, shallow thrusts before adding a second finger. "Ahh—I touched myself just like this…thinking about how much better it would feel if it were you."
Kai's nostrils flare when I crook my fingers just right—when the broken noise it punches out of me bounces off the walls loud enough for his speakers to pick up. "Fuck, Anri," he rasps. "There?" he asks, stroking himself in time with my movements as if he can feel where I'm touching myself through sheer desperation alone.
"Y-yeah," I gasp out, nodding helplessly, thighs trembling as pleasure licks up my spine. My free hand glides up my chest—I need more friction—but if I touch my cock now, I'll come embarrassingly fast from how wrecked Kai sounds just from watching me. "Wanted—ngh—wanted you to call me yours while you ruin me—"
My breath hitches again when I push my fingers deeper—broken gasps as I fuck myself open with messy, uncoordinated thrusts.
"Keep going," he commands softly—even with the feral edge in his tone. "Just like that, pretty boy."
A choked whimper escapes me before I can even think to hold it back. No one's ever looked at me with such reverence as if he's trying to burn the very image of me trembling apart for him into his memory.
Kai's gaze stays fixated on the way I'm moving. My fingers stutter, then drive deeper, hips rolling mindlessly into my own touch like I can't stop. "Kai—Kai—" My voice cracks, high and whining, my greedy free hand pinching my nipple. "Need you to—to fuck me—want it so bad," the words spill out, raw and unfiltered, frantic in a way that I know I'm going to regret later.
The way Kai's grip tightens around himself—scraped knuckles turning pale, veins standing stark along his forearm—makes my breath stutter. His hips jerk up into his fist like he can't help it, and the choked sound he makes is filthy, raw in a way I've never heard from him before.
"You—" He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when I crook my fingers deeper—hitting something sensitive inside—his mismatched eyes glued to where I'm spread open and trembling for him. "Say it again," he demands.
I arch off the mattress as I fuck myself faster on my own fingers. "Want you to fuck me," I pant, barely recognising my own voice—hoarse and desperate. "Want your cock so bad, it hurts—"
Kai swears violently at that, his free hand fisting in his own hair like he's physically holding himself back from reaching through the screen. The flush crawling up his chest matches mine perfectly; sweat slides down his temple as his hips stutter forward again helplessly—like even he's losing control now—the sight only makes me want him even more.
If watching me like this has him hanging by a thread…what would happen if we were actually together? If his rough hands pinned me down just to take what he needs…
The thought alone makes me clench around my fingers so tight I see stars.
Kai's hand is moving so fast that I can hear the slick sound of him stroking himself through the speaker. He stares at me with parted lips through the phone—I could get addicted to this sight alone. "You're doing so good," he murmurs. "You think you could take me, hm?" he teases.
My breath hitches as I press a third finger in alongside the others—just to prove I can. The moan that tears out of me erupts straight from my chest as I force myself to relax around the fluttering stretch of my fingers.
Kai's lips part more, and his eyes go heavy-lidded at the sight, his strokes turning erratic as if he's lost in it. "Anri," he murmurs. "Tell me how it feels,"
"T-tight," I stutter out in a gasp. My hips twitch helplessly as pleasure sparks up my spine from each shallow thrust of my fingers. "B-but, Kai—oh fuck—I want it to be you so badly…"
The way Kai is moaning is dangerously unsteady, the way he's breathing—it only makes me whimper in response—my fingers working deeper—spreading myself open in a way that makes my thighs shake when my fingers barely reach that soft, swollen spot inside me.
My neglected cock is dripping precum, twitching violently, I'm practically shaking from it—shamelessly moaning for more. "Hah—Kai—"
Kai's rhythm turns downright messy and uncoordinated for the first time all night. "You sound so pretty like this," he growls.
It feels unreal, like my body can't get enough—like I'm going to burst at the seams. It's this sharp, aching fire deep inside me, growing and burning hotter until finally all I can do is gasp out a broken plea into the silence. "Please—" I whine as it echoes off the walls. Even the apartment's creaks and city noises are holding their breath along with me as I shiver under Kai's gaze.
The tension coils tighter with every ragged breath, my entire body trembling as pleasure builds like a live wire beneath my skin. It starts deep—a slow, liquid heat curling low in my stomach, spreading outward until even my fingertips feel oversensitive. My hips jerk helplessly against nothing, desperate for friction but too afraid to touch myself and ruin the agony of waiting.
Kai's voice cuts through the haze, rough with approval. "That's it—come for me,"
That's all I needed to hear.
The orgasm crashes over me like a wave—violent and all-consuming, ripping a choked sob from my throat as white-hot pleasure arcs down my spine. My back bows off the mattress, muscles locking tight as shocks of sensation radiate through every nerve ending. It's too much, overwhelming in a way that borders on painful, but I can't stop riding it out—fingers twisting in the sheets like an anchor while stars burst behind my eyelids. My cock is twitching, coming completely untouched, streaking my stomach and dripping onto my sheets.
Kai's restraint shatters with me. "Fuck, Anri," His hips snap up into his fist once, twice—then he's coming with a guttural noise that shoots straight to my oversensitive nerves. The sight of him unravelling—jaw clenched tight, muscles taut like bowstrings before snapping under pleasure—lodges itself permanently in my brain. Streaks of white paint his abdomen as he rides it out with shuddering breaths, gaze locked onto mine like even now he won't let me look away.
The only sounds are our ragged breathing and the slick slide of his hand, slowing lazily through the aftershocks—both of us ruined beyond words by nothing more than want.
It feels like an eternity before the overwhelming sensations start to subside and the world rights itself again. I lay there, boneless and trembling on the sweat-soaked sheets, breathing heavily like I ran a marathon. Every fibre of my being feels raw and electrified, but completely at peace at the same time.
"Kai..." I manage to whisper, still struggling to form words. It comes out hoarse, almost inarticulate, with how wrecked I feel.
For a moment, I think I hear a shaky exhale across the line. "You okay?" The way his voice softens—just for me, as if he didn't cause chaos in Dōgenzaka tonight—sends another shiver through my oversensitive body. I press a trembling hand to my flushed chest, willing my heartbeat to slow as I exhale unsteadily.
"Yeah," I murmur, and it comes out embarrassingly tender. My fingers twitch against the sheets as if I'm searching for him, even now. "I just—never felt anything like that before…"
Through the screen, Kai runs a hand through his messy hair—his usual sharp edges blurred in the dim light. His gaze flicks over me once, assessing, before he huffs something between a laugh and a sigh. "Good. Just wish I could be there," he mutters, low enough that I almost miss it. He clears his throat as if that will coax him back into his icy exterior. "Get some water. Clean up and get ready for bed."
It shouldn't make my stomach flutter—that gruff concern hidden beneath commands—but it does anyway. I bite my lip to hide the smile threatening to break through as I nod obediently. "...You too," I mumble back before immediately wanting to melt into the mattress from how stupidly fond it sounds.
A soft breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh filters through the phone. "I will," Kai confirms, and his voice has regained that usual hint of amusement. "Now stop looking at me like that. You look like a puppy."
I sputter indignantly, cheeks warming at the comparison. "I do not—!" My protest is weak—a half-hearted attempt to salvage my ego—and we both know it. Still, I glare at the screen, just to make a point. "Shut up. I do not."
A smirk tugs at the corner of Kai's mouth. "Adorable," he counters mildly, and the glint in his mismatched eyes makes it sound more like a tease than an insult.
I huff, cheeks burning brighter, because dammit—it's not even fair the way my heart skips a beat from just a few words. "Shut up," I grumble, fighting off a stubborn smile. "I'll block you."
Finally, I manage to drag myself to the kitchen, still a little shaky. I fill a glass of water and down it gratefully, the cool liquid calming my racing heart. When I glance down, I grimace at the drying mess on my stomach—I really am a mess.
My sheets are ruined, too, so I strip them off and toss them into the laundry for new ones before changing into a fresh pair of sleep pants. By the time I sink back down on the edge of the bed, exhaustion is already tugging at me like weights.
I grab my phone from where I left it on my pillow. Sure enough, the call is still connected—the only sound coming over the speaker is a soft, steady exhale.
My chest goes a little soft at the thought of him just listening to me breathe all this time. Like he's not ready to let go quite yet.
"Hey," he murmurs. His phone still seems like it's propped at an angle toward his bed. His room is dark now, the only real light coming from his screen. He's under the covers now—all sleepy eyes and messy hair—and it makes my heart skip a beat.
The sound of his voice—rough around the edges but undeniably there—makes my breath catch. I curl onto my side, tucking the phone against my pillow like a secret. "Hey back," I murmur, my own voice sleep-soft now.
Kai exhales through his nose, that familiar half-amused sound. "Clean up okay?"
"Mhm," The word comes out muffled against the fabric as I nuzzle deeper into it. My limbs feel heavy in the best way, like liquid warmth has replaced my bones.
"I'm picking you up tomorrow." It's not a question—just a statement, solid as pavement underfoot. His usual 'don't argue with me' tone, except there's something underneath it that makes my stomach flip.
I bite my lip to hide the stupid grin threatening to split my face in half. "…What if I say no?"
His answering snort is downright predatory. "Try it."
The laugh escapes before I can stop it, giddy and breathless.
The soft glow of my phone screen washes over me as I curl deeper into the freshly changed sheets. Kai's gruff voice still lingers in my ears, that familiar edge of command softened just enough to make warmth pool in my chest. Outside, Tokyo hums its usual nighttime melody: distant traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from passersby, drunk salary workers—but in this bubble between us, everything feels quieter. More intimate.
I trace absent patterns on the duvet with one finger, suddenly hyper-aware of how ordinary yet monumental this moment feels. My body still thrums with aftershocks of pleasure, muscles loose and satisfied in a way they've never been before. Not just from touching myself—but from being seen so completely by him.
"Anri," His voice cuts through my thoughts, sharper now but no less warm. "You asleep?"
A smile tugs at my lips as I burrow further into the pillows. "Nearly…don't…don't go."
Kai lets out a soft sigh. "Oh, Anri. You're gonna have to do better than that to get rid of me. Not going anywhere."
I can't answer him. I mumble something into my pillow—some stupid confession—it must just be brain chemistry doing what brain chemistry does when you've been attracted to someone for so long, then finally they give you the look—the same look I've been giving him—it's probably in my head, I don't even know if Kai is a person with such feelings.
Fuck. It's too soon to feel this way. Or is it? What even are we?
But, I'm too giddy to care. I'd rather be caught in Kai's web than be free. I'd rather choke with him near me than breathe in his absence. I'd rather die the day he finally kissed me than spend my life wishing it'd happened.
Through the phone comes a quiet hum of satisfaction followed by rustling fabric—probably him settling into bed too, if I had to guess. Neither of us moves to hang up, though; this fragile connection between our darkened rooms feels too precious to sever just yet.
The last thing I register before sleep finally claims me is Kai's breathing evening out across the line—steady and strong like an anchor keeping me tethered even in dreams.