CHAPTER 18
The cold car AC hummed, blowing a sharp chill into the cabin, yet the space between them felt suffocatingly warm. The air carried the scent of Izumi's cologne, mixing with the unspoken tension that filled the car.
"Relax, Sakura-chan…" Izumi's voice was smooth, cutting through the mechanical drone like silk.
(How can I?)
Kiyomi closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. He tried to focus on the city lights sliding past the tinted windows, bright streaks dissolving into the dark. But his body remained painfully aware of every movement beside him.
Then he felt something.
(Huh?)
The touch was light at first—a quiet weight settling against him.
He opened his eyes slowly.
Izumi's hand rested on his thigh.
It didn't stay still. Izumi's thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles over the white fabric of the dress, rubbing gently as if testing the boundary.
Kiyomi's muscles locked.
The warmth of Izumi's palm seeped through the thin material, sending a sharp jolt of conflicting feelings straight to his chest. His breath caught, his heart hammering harder with every passing second.
(Izumi is hot! No— I mean the car is. Yes. Definitely the car!)
"Izumi… tell me what exactly you want."
"Hmm?" Izumi didn't answer with words. Instead, he slowly pulled Kiyomi's skirt up, the fabric bunching under his palm as more pale skin was revealed.
"What exactly am I to you?" Kiyomi suddenly squeaked, the question forced out by the pressure of the moment.
Izumi turned his head slightly to look at him.
The sight of Kiyomi's face—the wide eyes, the faint blush on his cheeks, the expression of a puppy waiting for approval—seemed to excite him. A dark flicker of satisfaction crossed his gaze.
"I am the boss. You're an employee."
"Really?"
Izumi simply nodded, his attention drifting back to the road as if the conversation were a routine business exchange.
"Izumi… whatever you're thinking, the answer is yes!"
(What am I saying?)
Izumi didn't answer and let the words hang.
The car took another turn. The tires whispered against the asphalt as it slowed and finally came to a stop.
Kiyomi blinked and looked out the window.
"It's… my house?"
(Oh no he knows where I live...)
"Yes, Sakura-chan," Izumi replied. His voice had lost its teasing edge. "Tell me… are your parents home?"
"Yes, they are," Kiyomi answered instinctively.
Izumi paused.
"About your question earlier—the one where your answer is 'yes'."
The silence stretched across the cabin until it felt like it might snap.
"I'll tell you the question once your parents aren't home."
(Wha— really?)
Kiyomi's muscles tensed. A strange, ticklish frustration bloomed inside him—a mixture of thwarted anticipation and lingering dread. He had braced himself for everything, only to be told to wait.
"Don't forget to chat me again on LONE," he said. "Don't make me wait too long, Sakura-chan."
Kiyomi quickly stepped out of the car. The cool night air struck his face as he walked toward the house.
Inside, he moved quietly through the hallway like a ghost, heading straight for the bathroom. He turned on the shower, letting the water wash over him, trying to erase the scent of the car and the lingering warmth of Izumi's hand.
But as the water ran over his skin, his mind drifted back to the seat of that white sports car. He could still feel the phantom weight of Izumi's hand and the slow, agonizing circles of his thumb.
(What if my parents weren't home today?)
The thought sparked dangerously in the dark.
Kiyomi turned off the shower. The sudden silence of the bathroom felt thick, almost expectant. Steam curled around the mirror as he stepped closer, droplets tracing down his skin.
His reflection looked back at him, flushed from the heat—or perhaps from the memory.
(Something is missing…)
He reached for the counter and picked up the pink wig he had carefully set aside. It was still dry, the color bright and vivid against his damp hands.
Slowly, he placed it on his head.
He adjusted the strands with careful fingers until the girl in the mirror stared back at him again.
Kiyomi studied the reflection for a long moment.
(I am Sakura…)
Slowly, his hands traveled down, finding his own skin where Izumi's had been. He reached for his cherries, pulling them, playing with the sensitive peaks until they were dark and swollen. He twisted them, a sharp wince of pain mixing with a surge of heat that made his head spin.
His thigh muscles tensed, and instinctively, he squeezed them together, his knees buckling as he dropped to the wet tiles. The small room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and the soft, desperate moans that he could no longer keep behind his teeth.
Then, he suddenly stopped midway. His hand froze, the sensation flat and hollow compared to the electricity of the car.
(This isn't enough!)
The frustration was a physical ache, a void that his own hands couldn't fill. Kiyomi stood back up, his eyes darting around the sterile bathroom until they landed on the vanity.
(A soap!)
He picked up the fresh bar of Sakura-scented soap. With a sharp, desperate breath, he broke it in two, the jagged edge a testament to his urgency. He didn't bother drying off. He grabbed the half-stick and retreated to his bed, the pink wig still damp against his neck.
Once he settled into the sheets, he moved with a slow, trembling deliberation. He pushed the half-stick of soap into the hole between his peaches. His waist rolled instinctively, his back arching as the smooth, waxy surface began to slide deep inside him.
(It's so slippery~)
The sensation was cold and foreign, yet it provided the "weight" he had been craving. But in his haze of desperation, his finger slipped. He pushed once, too hard, and the soap glided past his reach.
(Wait... where's the soap?)
Panic flared, momentarily dousing the heat. He tried to dig in further, his fingers searching for the edge of the bar, but it was useless. The more he moved, the further it seemed to vanish into him.
(Help me... Izumi-sama~)
The name left his lips like a prayer to a god who wasn't there. After a frantic while, he realized he couldn't get it out on his own. Exhaustion finally overtook the panic. He closed his eyes, the weight inside him a constant, throbbing reminder of his own recklessness. He fell into a heavy, fitful sleep.
Hours later, the morning sunlight hit his window, cutting through the darkness of the room. Kiyomi stirred, the first thing hitting his senses being the cloying, overwhelming scent of Sakura soap. He sat up, his body feeling stiff and strange. He looked down at the sheets.
There was a pale, white liquid staining the bed—the soap had begun to dissolve against his internal heat. His eyes traced the trail back to himself, back to his hole.
(It's still inside… But it feels smaller!)
Kiyomi exhaled sharply, trying to force his mind to function logically. But the logic was failing. Every time he shifted on the bed, he felt the slick, waxy slide of the dissolving bar. Minutes bled into an hour as he stared at the ceiling, paralyzed by the strange sensation.
His eyes caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall.
(Wait! I don't have time to think… It's 7 already… I need to get ready!)
Adrenaline finally overrode the confusion. Kiyomi scrambled out of bed, moving with a stiff, careful gait. He dressed hurriedly, layering his clothes to hide the paranoia blooming in his chest. Before long, he was back to being just another short, petite, and pretty university student.
He headed straight to the campus. On the train, every lurch of the carriage made him grip the handrail white-knuckled, terrified that a sudden jolt would cause a visible leak through his trousers. The cloying scent of Sakura soap seemed to radiate off him in waves, filling his personal bubble.
When he arrived, the lobby was a sea of chaos. Students were already lined up in thick rows, shouting and pushing as they checked the bulletin boards for their midterm results.
There were too many students, most of them significantly bigger than him. He tried to weave through the crowd, but he was shoved back, the physical impact making him wince as he felt the soap shift deeper. He felt small, overwhelmed, and dangerously close to a breakdown.
But then, a firm hand grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the crush. He turned, his heart leaping into his throat.
"Takkun!" he said, his expression melting into pure, genuine happiness.
"Yo! Need help?" Takumi grinned down at him, his presence like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.
"I can't see the board," Kiyomi admitted, leaning slightly toward his friend for support.
"I got you!" Takumi said, his voice a steady anchor. He began to shoulder his way through the press of bodies, opening a path with a protective strength that made Kiyomi feel, for a fleeting moment, safe.
Kiyomi followed close behind, Takumi's grip on his arm firm and reassuring. Soon they pushed past the last row of students. The bulletin board stood right in front of them.
Kiyomi's eyes raced across the rows of numbers until they finally found his own.
His face lit up instantly, a bright, genuine glow that washed away the exhaustion of the morning.
"Takkun! I passed! I passed all of them!"
He turned toward his friend, expecting a grin, but instead found Takumi wearing a look of complete devastation. The sight made Kiyomi's excitement falter.
"Kiki…" Takumi groaned, shoulders slumping in defeat.
Without thinking, Kiyomi stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him in a tight, comforting hug.
"Don't worry… I'll help you study for the retakes. We'll get through it together."
He stepped back again, a small encouraging smile still lingering on his lips.
Before he could say anything else, a cool, familiar voice cut through the noise behind him.
"You passed too?"
"Izumi-kun…" Kiyomi breathed.
His body went rigid.
The sound of that voice sent a shock straight through his body.
In that instant, a hot sensation surged deep inside him.
The soap finally gave way.
Kiyomi felt it before he saw it.
Warm liquid soaked through the fabric of his trousers, spreading rapidly. A thick, white, bubbly foam—heavy with the sweet scent of sakura—began seeping through the cloth and trailing down his legs.
It dripped onto the polished floor with soft, quiet pops as the bubbles burst.
The nearby students noticed almost immediately.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. People stepped back instinctively, recoiling as a wide circle opened around him.
Whispers followed just as quickly.
"What is that…?"
"Why does it smell like flowers?"
"Is he… having some kind of accident?"
(Oh no!)