By the time they returned to the townhouse, Shouma had exhausted what little patience he’d had left for the afternoon. He parked the Kawasaki beside the kei truck and switched off the engine, remaining seated for a moment while Yoshino climbed off behind him. She removed her helmet and stretched, her maroon hair falling loose around her shoulders.
“I’m hungry again,” she announced.
Shouma glanced over his shoulder. “You ate two hours ago.”
“And?”
“You’ve been hungry every two hours since you got back.”
“Maybe Tokyo wasn’t feeding me properly.”
“Hm, that’s a pretty good excuse to go find Kirishima and fuck him up–.”
“You know what, forget I said anything.”
He shook his head and retrieved their shopping bags from the motorcycle’s storage compartment. Yoshino followed him into the house, still considering what she might eat before they left for the party. At the entrance, Shouma removed his boots and carried the bags into the kitchen. He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and drank while Yoshino began unpacking the clothes they’d purchased.
“I’m going to sleep,” he said.
She looked up. “Already?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s barely afternoon.”
“And I’ve been awake since this morning.”
“So have I.”
“Then take a nap.”
Yoshino gave him an unimpressed look. Shouma set the bottle on the counter and gestured toward the shopping bags. “Can you hang everything up? Mine too.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”
“Wake me up if I’m not up by eight.”
“Okay.”
He started toward the stairs, then glanced back. “And don’t go anywhere.”
Yoshino stared at him. “Where the hell would I go?”
“Don’t know.”
“I’m not five, Shouma.”
He continued up the stairs without answering.
“Stop treating me like I’m five!”
His voice drifted down from the second floor. “Go take a nap.”
“YOU’RE THE ONE TAKING A NAP!”
There was no response.
Yoshino stood in the kitchen for another moment before muttering, “Idiot.” She collected the shopping bags and carried them upstairs. The second-floor bedroom had begun to feel familiar in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Her suitcase stood beside the dresser, and several of her belongings had gradually found places among Shouma’s things. Her toiletries occupied part of the bathroom counter, while a few books she’d brought from Osaka sat on the bedside table. She opened the closet and carefully removed her new dress from its garment bag, hanging it where the material wouldn’t crease. Beside it, she arranged Shouma’s black trousers and sleeveless turtleneck, leaving his leather jacket on a separate hanger. The Chelsea boots went beneath them. Yoshino stepped back to examine her work. She pictured him wearing the outfit again, remembering how the fitted shirt had looked across his shoulders when he’d emerged from the fitting room.
“Yep,” she murmured, satisfied. She was particularly pleased with the boots. After checking the time, Yoshino decided she could afford to lie down for a little while. She climbed onto the bed and pulled a pillow against her chest, intending to rest for no more than twenty minutes. Instead, her thoughts wandered to the motorcycle ride. It had been so long since she’d sat behind Shouma that she’d nearly forgotten how natural the position felt. His hand had briefly covered hers before they left the parking lot, and she’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about it afterward.
He’s always done things like that.
She knew he had. Still, the memory made her smile. Yoshino buried her face in the pillow.
“Get a grip,” she told herself. And then a few minutes later, she fell asleep.

Nearly three hours passed before Yoshino woke, disturbed by the uncomfortable emptiness in her stomach. She rolled onto her back and blinked at the darkening bedroom, momentarily confused by how much time had passed. “What time is it?”
Her new phone showed a little after seven. She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
I should probably eat before the party.
After considering the amount of alcohol Tsubaki was likely to have available, she decided that eating beforehand would be sensible. Downstairs, she retrieved a nectarine from the refrigerator and wandered through the quiet townhouse while eating it. Shouma was still asleep, and the house had settled into the comfortable silence she’d begun to associate with his absence. Eventually, she found herself climbing toward the third floor. The unfinished master bedroom was darker than it had been earlier, with the last of the evening light filtering through the terrace doors. Several boxes remained stacked near the wall, apparently waiting for Shouma to decide what to do with them.
Yoshino approached one.
“I’m just looking,” she murmured. Nobody had asked. The first box was already open, which she considered a reasonable invitation to inspect its contents. Inside were photographs. Yoshino stopped chewing. “No way.”
She crouched beside the box and lifted the first photograph. It showed Shouma when he was still in middle school, standing beside her with an expression of profound irritation. Yoshino, meanwhile, was grinning directly at the camera. She laughed quietly. “You looked so pissed off Yoshino… so pissed off..”
Beneath it was another photograph taken outside Renji’s house. Several more followed, including pictures from school and a festival they’d attended together. One showed Yoshino asleep in the background while Shouma sat nearby, apparently unaware that someone had taken the picture. She examined it for a moment longer. Mixed among the photographs were old admission tickets and receipts from places they’d visited years earlier. Some were faded enough that the printed dates were barely legible. Yoshino smiled.
She’d always kept things like this herself, but she’d never imagined Shouma bothering. “You sentimental bastard.”
She reached farther into the box and found a black journal beneath the photographs. Her smile faded slightly. This journal was different. She turned it over, examining the worn cover before hesitating.
I probably shouldn’t.
After another moment, she opened it. “Sorry.”
The contents were nothing like a personal diary. Most pages contained dates and addresses, along with reminders that appeared to concern assignments from Renji. Some entries were written so vaguely that Yoshino couldn’t understand what they referred to. One sentence, however, caught her attention.
Continue discipline from the body, as trust is the greatest gift.
Yoshino frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
She read it again, trying to understand whether it was some kind of instruction or a quotation Shouma had written down. Nothing came to mind. Whatever. She turned several more pages. The remaining entries were considerably more ordinary, including reminders to buy vegetables and call Renji. One page mentioned a motorcycle repair, while another contained an address followed by a note about mango lassi.
Yoshino shook her head. “Still weird.”
She closed the journal and returned it to its original position. The next box contained two binders, another journal, and a short sword resting in its sheath beneath several photographs. Yoshino paused.
“What the fuck?”
She picked up one of the photographs.

Kirishima.

Her expression changed.
The next photograph showed him again, although it appeared to have been taken much more recently. Yoshino set the nectarine aside. She opened the first binder. Inside were pages of information concerning Kirishima’s movements and associates. Several sections contained addresses, while others documented businesses he’d visited or people he’d been seen meeting. There were photographs Yoshino had never encountered before. She turned another page. Then stopped.
France?
According to the information Shouma had collected, Kirishima was currently in France. The documents also contained tentative travel arrangements and a possible return date approximately one year away.
Yoshino leaned closer. “Holy shit.”

She was still examining the page when a familiar voice spoke behind her. “Having fun?”

Yoshino startled so violently that she nearly dropped the binder. “FUCK!”
She spun around. Shouma stood a short distance behind her, wearing sweatpants and a dark shirt. His hair was slightly disheveled from sleep, although his expression was completely awake.
“WHAT THE HELL, SHOUMA?”
He glanced at the binder. “That’s my stuff.”
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“You’re going through my things.”
“You walk around like a fucking ghost!”
“I don’t care. This is my place, and you are looking through my shit.” He approached and held out his hand. Yoshino reluctantly surrendered the binder. Shouma closed it and examined the box, noticing the photographs she’d moved aside. His jaw tightened.
Yoshino watched him for a moment. “Hey.”
He looked at her.
“Sorry Shouma..”
“You should’ve asked.”
“I know.”
He returned the binder to the box. Yoshino glanced down at it. “Why do you have all this?”
Shouma remained quiet for a moment before answering. “When I found out you were coming back, I figured he’d make trouble.”
“How long have you been collecting information about him?”
“A while.”
“Shouma.”
He looked toward her. “I thought he’d follow you. Or try to stop you from leaving Tokyo.”
Yoshino considered that. “Did you think he’d come here?”
“Wouldn’t put it past him.” He closed the box and moved it back against the wall. “Tsubaki said he probably won’t do anything immediately.”
“Tsubaki?”
“She talked to him.”
Yoshino sighed. “Of course she did.”
“Apparently she threatened him.”
“That sounds like her.”
Shouma straightened. “She thinks he’ll stay away for now.”
“And you don’t?”
“I think he’ll come back eventually.”
Yoshino folded her arms. “You don’t know that.”
“No.” He looked directly at her. “That’s why I’m keeping track of him.”
She studied his expression. He appeared calm, but there was a firmness around his mouth that she recognized from the occasions when he’d already made a decision and had no intention of reconsidering it.
“Shouma, you don’t have to spend your entire life worrying about him.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve got an entire binder.” She stared at him.
He didn’t smile.
Yoshino sighed and looked toward the photographs. “I don’t think Kirishima would actually hurt me.”
Shouma’s expression changed. “He doesn’t have to hit you to hurt you.”
She fell quiet. He watched her for a moment before continuing. “I won’t let him take you away from me.”
The words came out more forcefully than he’d intended. Yoshino looked up. Shouma held her gaze, then glanced toward the terrace doors. “Renji would have my head if anything happened to you,” he added. “And he’d have every right to do so.”
“Shouma.”
“I mean it.”
She knew he did. That was what made the conversation difficult. Yoshino understood the responsibilities Renji had entrusted to him, but she’d also known Shouma long enough to recognize when he was speaking from something more personal than obligation. She decided not to press him.
Instead, she reached toward the first box. “I’m glad you kept these.”
Shouma looked at the photographs. “Yeah, it was a good time.”
“You kept pictures of us.”
“Yup.”
“And receipts.”
“Forgot to throw them away.”
“For years?”
“Yeah.”
Yoshino smiled. “You’re sentimental.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
He looked at her with mild irritation. “Yoshino.”
“What?”
“Go shower. We have to get ready.”
She laughed and rose from the floor. “Fine.”
As she passed him, she glanced back toward the photographs. Shouma noticed but said nothing. He waited until she’d left before closing the box.

By the time Shouma finished getting ready, the last of the daylight had disappeared beyond the neighboring rooftops. He stood before the bedroom mirror, adjusting the collar of the sleeveless black turtleneck Yoshino had chosen. The outfit worked better than he’d expected. The shirt fitted closely across his torso, leaving the tattoos covering his arms exposed. His tailored trousers fell neatly over the Chelsea boots he’d complained about at the store, and the leather jacket gave the entire outfit a more familiar appearance. He examined himself for another moment before reaching toward the dresser. His usual earrings were silver. Tonight, he replaced them with gold. Yoshino had chosen gold jewelry for her outfit, and he thought the change suited what he was wearing. He didn’t intend to discuss it.

A short while later, he was waiting near the entrance when he heard footsteps descending the stairs. Shouma looked up. Yoshino appeared at the landing, one hand resting lightly against the railing as she made her way down. The black faux-leather dress fitted closely through her waist, its structured seams giving the bodice a subtle corseted shape. The hem ended below her knees, and the gold earrings she’d selected earlier moved gently against her neck. Her maroon hair had been styled away from her face, leaving her shoulders exposed. Shouma’s gaze followed her as she descended. Yoshino noticed almost immediately. He wasn’t making any effort to conceal his appraisal, although his expression remained characteristically restrained. She slowed near the bottom of the stairs.
Why is he looking at me like that?
For a moment, she wasn’t entirely certain what to say. Then she looked him over and smiled. “Well, don’t you look expensive.”
Shouma’s mouth curved. “Expensive?”
“Very.”
“Thanks, you picked it.” He gave a quiet snort.
Yoshino approached, examining the outfit she’d chosen for him. The sleeveless turtleneck looked even better with the leather jacket, and she was pleased to see that he’d kept the Chelsea boots. Then she noticed his earrings. “Wait.”
Shouma looked at her.
“Did you change your earrings?”
“Yeah.”
“To gold?”
He shrugged.
Yoshino touched one of her own earrings. “Copycat.”
“Whatever.”
He reached toward a small bag beside the entrance and retrieved her boots. Yoshino looked at them. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m wearing heels.”
“Well no shit sherlock.”
She gestured toward her dress. “These go with the outfit.”
“Yeah but we’re going on my motorcycle. Don’t argue with me.”
She frowned. Shouma held out the boots. “Wear these for the ride. I’ll put your heels in the compartment.”
Yoshino opened her mouth to argue, then remembered what had happened the last time she’d struggled with inappropriate footwear around him. She looked at the boots again. “Fine.”
Shouma raised an eyebrow, “Good girl.”
She took the boots from him. “I’d rather not have Gramps beat the shit out of you again because I twisted my ankle.”
Shouma’s expression flattened. “Appreciate it.”

The ride through Kyoto was cooler than it had been that afternoon. The Kawasaki moved through illuminated streets, passing traditional buildings whose wooden façades were partly concealed in shadow. Yoshino sat securely behind Shouma, her arms wrapped around his waist as they traveled toward Akira’s neighborhood. She was glad she’d listened about the boots. The evening air had grown noticeably colder, and the leather jacket she’d borrowed from Shouma offered more protection than the dress beneath it.
By the time they reached the quieter residential streets surrounding the penthouse, music could already be heard from somewhere above. Akira’s parents owned a residence in an expensive development set back from the main road. The building’s entrance was discreet, with pale stonework and carefully maintained landscaping that concealed much of the property from passing traffic. Shouma parked the motorcycle in the designated area and removed his helmet. Yoshino began loosening her own strap, but he turned toward her.
“Hold still.”
She lowered her hands. He released the fastening beneath her chin and lifted the helmet away, careful not to catch the clip holding her hair. His fingers brushed the side of her neck. Yoshino’s shoulders rose slightly. Shouma noticed. “Cold?”
“A little.”
He adjusted the strands of hair displaced by the helmet. “There.”
Yoshino looked toward him. “Thanks.”
He opened the motorcycle’s storage compartment and retrieved her heels. She reached for them, but he crouched before she could take them.
“What are you doing?”
“Changing your shoes.”
“I…can do that.”
“Just give me you foot.”
Yoshino stared at him. Shouma loosened the first boot and carefully removed it, followed by her sock. He slipped the heel onto her foot and fastened the ankle strap, checking that it sat comfortably before moving to the other side. Yoshino remained unusually quiet. She watched the movement of his hands, noticing how carefully he handled the delicate straps.
He’s really doing this in the parking lot.
She pressed her lips together.
Shouma glanced up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He finished fastening the second heel and stood. “Comfortable?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
He placed her boots in the compartment and locked it. Yoshino looked at him for another moment before following him toward the entrance. The penthouse occupied the upper floors of the building. Inside, a wide staircase led from the entrance foyer toward the main entertaining area, where music and conversation grew louder with each step. Shouma took Yoshino’s hand before they reached the top. She glanced down briefly, then continued beside him. The main room was already crowded. Guests stood near the bar while others gathered around the windows overlooking Kyoto. The interior was modern and spacious, with pale stone flooring and furnishings arranged to accommodate the evening’s entertainment.
Across the room, a woman stopped speaking in the middle of a conversation. Arisa Takamura had recognized Shouma almost immediately. Her long dark hair fell over one shoulder, and the understated dress she wore suited the expensive surroundings. As the daughter of two physicians, she was accustomed to attending gatherings like this, although she hadn’t expected to encounter him. Her gaze moved toward the woman beside him. Then she noticed their joined hands.
Ryuichi Minami, standing beside her, followed the direction of her attention. His reddish permed hair made him easy to recognize among the guests. “Oh,” he said.
Arisa glanced toward him. “What?”
“That guy.”
“Which guy?” Arisa said as she kept looking at Shouma.
Ryuichi nodded toward Shouma. “The one you’re staring at right now. I fought him a few months ago.”
Arisa turned sharply. “You fought Shouma?”
Ryuichi looked surprised. “You know him?”
She didn’t answer.

Across the room, Akira noticed the new arrivals and approached with an enthusiastic smile. “Hey! You made it.”
Yoshino returned his greeting. “Thanks for inviting us.”
“Of course. You both look great.”
“Thank you.”
Akira looked toward Shouma. Shouma acknowledged him with a slight nod. Akira waited a moment, apparently expecting something more. When nothing followed, he laughed. “Right. Come on, I’ll show you the bar.”
Yoshino smiled and followed him, with Shouma walking beside her. The bartender was a young Japanese man dressed entirely in black. He greeted them politely as Akira leaned against the counter. “Mojito for her,” Akira said.
Yoshino looked at him. “You remembered?”
“Tsubaki told me.”
“Of course she did.”
Akira turned toward Shouma. “Whiskey sour?”
Shouma gave a short nod. “Yeah.”
Once their drinks were prepared, Akira excused himself to greet another group of guests. Yoshino took a sip of her mojito while looking around. “This place is wild.”
Shouma glanced toward the windows. “Yeah.”
“His parents must be loaded.”
“They are.”
She looked at him. “You know them?”
“Know OF them.”
Yoshino nodded and followed him toward the rooftop terrace. The outdoor area had been arranged with low seating and heaters positioned around the edges. A DJ booth occupied one side, while the open space in front of it had been cleared for dancing. Several guests stood near the railing, admiring the view of the city.  Yoshino looked around appreciatively. “Okay. I see why Tsubaki wanted us here.”
Shouma took a sip of his drink. “yeah….”

A short while later, the DJ announced that he would be taking song requests through a raffle. Several guests gathered near the booth to submit their selections, and within minutes, the first request was drawn. The DJ unfolded a slip of paper and laughed. “Okay. First one is ‘Matsuri’ by Fujii Kaze.”
A few people cheered. “Not exactly what I expected, but all right.”
The opening of the song filled the rooftop. Akira raised his arms and began moving along with the music, encouraging the nearby guests to join him. Yoshino laughed and followed his example. Shouma remained beside her, holding his drink. She turned toward him. “Come on.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard what I’m going to ask.”
“I know what you’re going to ask.”
Yoshino reached for his wrist. “Dance.”
“No.”
She raised his arm anyway. “Shouma.”
“Yoshino, NO.”
She laughed and continued moving to the music. He gave her a flat look, but after a moment, he allowed her to guide his arm through the rhythm. Yoshino grinned. “There you go!”
“Happy?”
“Very. This is so much fun!”
Akira eventually took the microphone to announce that several international guests had requested songs. The first was “Yeah!” by Usher, and the people near the bar recognized it before the verse began. Tsubaki pulled Akira onto the floor without waiting for the chorus. Yoshino stayed at the high table with her drink. Shouma stood beside her, one elbow on the table, watching the dancers with the patience of a man waiting for a meeting to end. When the song finished, the DJ let the next track come in with a transition from “Yeah!” to “Scream” by Usher..

Tsubaki spun toward the table and pointed. “Yoshino!”
“No.”
“You can’t sit through this one.”

“I can, actually.”

“Get Shouma.”

Yoshino glanced at him. He didn’t look away from the floor.

“Are you going to make me ask?” she said.

“You haven’t asked. I don’t mind, actually.”

She held out her hand. He looked at it, then at her, and set his glass down beside hers. The floor had filled while the song built. Shouma found a space near the speakers, where the lights were lower and the bass came up through the soles of her shoes, and turned her to face him. He didn’t start moving right away. He let the beat repeat, his hand resting at the small of her back, as if he were checking the tempo before committing to it. Then he drew her in. Not far, but close enough that her dress brushed his trousers when she shifted her weight. Yoshino moved with the bass, loosely at first, aware of his hand and of how little pressure he needed to keep her there.

“You’re stiff,” he said near her ear.

“I’m in heels.”

“Then lean on me so you don’t get tired.”

She gave him a look. He returned it without any change in expression, and she laughed despite herself and let her shoulders drop. That seemed to be what he’d been waiting for. His hand moved from her back to her hip. As the song pushed toward the chorus, he turned her so that her back met his chest. His forearm settled across her stomach, holding her against him, and his hips found the rhythm with hers. Yoshino felt his breathing against her hair. She let her head tip toward his shoulder because it was easier than holding it upright. Around them, people raised their arms and shouted the hook. Shouma didn’t. He kept the movement low and unhurried, and the noise of the room began to feel like it belonged to a different party.

Yoshino turned in his hold. Facing him again, she laid her palms on his chest. His shirt was warm from the room. She slid her hands up over his collarbones and around the back of his neck, lacing her fingers at his nape, and felt him go still for half a beat before his hands settled at her waist.

“Yoshino.”

“Hm?”

He didn’t finish whatever he’d meant to say. The drop hit, and the floor jumped with it. They didn’t. They stayed in the slower pocket beneath the tempo, her fingers resting against his hairline, his thumb following the seam at the side of her dress. She realized she was looking at his mouth about a second after he noticed. Shouma lowered his head. Yoshino lifted her chin. Their foreheads touched, and for the length of a bar she could feel his breath against her lips. Neither of them moved closer. Neither moved away.

Someone near the speakers whooped, loud and close. Yoshino eased back half an inch. It was enough. Shouma’s hands loosened at her waist, and he exhaled through his nose and looked past her shoulder at nothing in particular. The song ran out. The music didn’t come back.

Akira leaned into the microphone. “One minute, everyone. The next request needs a little setup.”

The room filled with conversation. Someone laughed at the bar. A server passed with a tray of empty glasses. Yoshino and Shouma stood where the song had left them, a respectable distance apart now, which somehow felt more noticeable than the closeness had. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It didn’t need tucking. “It’s warm in here,” she said.

“It is.”

She waited for him to say something else but he didn’t. He was watching the DJ booth, but his jaw was set the way it got when he was thinking about something he didn’t intend to discuss.

“Do you want to sit down?” she asked.

He looked at her. “Do you?”

She didn’t answer, and he didn’t press. They stayed as they were.

Tsubaki drifted past with Akira, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin. Her eyes moved from Yoshino to Shouma and back, and she smiled in a way Yoshino didn’t trust at all. Then the speakers came back.

“Tu Con Él,” by Rauw Alejandro started playing. Yoshino recognized it from the first bars. “No way.”

Years earlier, Renji had arranged salsa lessons for her. Because he’d considered it useful for Shouma to accompany her, Shouma had been required to attend as well. He’d complained through every session. He’d also learned every step. Tsubaki was already pulling Akira toward the center of the floor.

Shouma held out his hand. Yoshino looked at it. “I thought you’d want to sit,” she said.

“You thought wrong.”

Yoshino took Shouma’s hand and the moment the first count came around, his posture changed. The looseness from before was gone. His right hand settled at her waist, his left lifted hers to a comfortable height, and he waited for the rhythm before guiding her into the basic step. Yoshino followed without thinking. It had been years, but her feet remembered before she did. Shouma led without looking down, shortening his stride for her heels. When he raised their joined hands, she turned beneath his arm and came back to him, her palm landing on his shoulder. He caught her cleanly.

“You remember,” she said.

“Obviously.”

“You complained the entire time.”

“But I still learned.”

She laughed and let him take her into the next pattern. This was a different kind of closeness. Salsa had rules, and he kept to them: the frame, the spacing, the clean exits and returns. He sent her out to the length of their arms and brought her back on the count, and each time she returned she landed a little nearer than the step required. He didn’t correct it either. Yoshino knew how to follow him, and she knew where she could add something of her own. She took a slower turn than he’d led, a flick of her shoulders, and Shouma adjusted without hesitation. His expression didn’t change and his eyes stayed on her. She’d known him for most of her life. She could usually tell he was irritated before he said a word. What she couldn’t read was the way he was watching her now, as though the rest of the room had been put away somewhere for later. She didn’t look toward the crowd anymore and neither did he.

On the last phrase he sent her into a double turn, and she came out of it straight into his arm, her body settling against his on the final beat. The music stopped. They stayed there. His hand was firm at her back. Her fingers rested against his shoulder. She could feel him breathing.

Then the applause reached them.

Yoshino blinked and looked around. Guests near the floor were clapping, a few of them cheering. She laughed, suddenly aware of how many people had been watching. Shouma released her slowly.

Tsubaki reached them first. “Where did that come from you two?”

“Oh, stop.”

“No, I won’t.” Tsubaki caught Yoshino’s hand and raised it. “Everyone, this is my cousin Yoshino! She’s been hiding this from all of you.”

Yoshino covered part of her face. “Please don’t.”

Tsubaki ignored her. “Since I have your attention, I might as well make an announcement.”

Shouma’s expression shifted. He glanced at Akira, who clearly knew what was coming.

“Tonight is partly to celebrate Yoshino coming home,” Tsubaki said. “We’re also preparing to open a luxury medical spa in Osaka, with plans to expand to Kyoto.”

Yoshino lowered her hands. She hadn’t expected Tsubaki to announce the business here. “Akira will be joining us as a partner,” Tsubaki continued, gesturing toward him, “and our families have been helping us put everything together.”

Guests offered congratulations with claps and cheers.

Then Tsubaki turned to Shouma. “And Shouma will be working with us as well.”

He stared at her. “What?”

Tsubaki smiled brightly. “The four of us.”

Shouma looked at Akira as the applause carried on around them.

Akira gave an awkward smile. “Surprise?”

Shouma’s expression went flat.

Yoshino pressed her lips together. She knew that look. Before either of them could corner Tsubaki, a handful of guests drifted over to ask about the spa. Yoshino answered politely, describing the location they were considering in Osaka and the treatments they hoped to offer. Shouma stayed at her side. When someone addressed him, he answered in as few words as the question allowed. A man in a grey suit asked whether he’d be handling the security side of the business, and Shouma looked at him long enough that the man laughed, said he’d only been curious, and found someone else to talk to.

A few minutes later, Shouma’s fingers closed around her wrist. “Come on.”

Yoshino looked up. “What?”

“Air.”

The guests between them and the terrace moved aside before he reached them. Yoshino had stopped noticing that years ago, and noticed it now only because of how differently his hand held her wrist: loosely, his thumb resting over her pulse, as though he were keeping track of it. He led her to the far railing, where the music thinned out, and turned to face her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine.”

He studied her face before he nodded. Yoshino leaned against the railing and waited for her pulse to settle.

The announcement hadn’t unsettled her nearly as much as the dance had. Her waist still remembered where his hand had been. So did the moment at the end of the last turn, when she’d come back to him and found him already watching her. She glanced at him. He was looking toward the bar, his face giving away nothing.

Of course, I can never truly know what is going on in that head of his…

She sighed.

Shouma looked down at her. “How many drinks?”

She thought about it. “Four.”

His brows drew together. “Four.”

“They weren’t all full.”

“Yoshino.”

“What? I’m not drunk.”

“You’re leaning on me.”

“Because I’m tired.”

“Then sit.”

She looked at the seating area. Instead of going, she took hold of the front of his jacket. “Just hold me for a minute.”

His eyes went to her hand. Then he put his arm around her waist. Yoshino stepped in and rested her cheek against his chest. He stayed still for a moment, then shifted his stance so she could lean her weight into him without having to brace herself. They stood like that while the party carried on behind them. Now and then she lifted her head to say something, and once, when she did, his gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed there a moment too long. “Shouma…”

His eyes came back to hers. Neither of them moved. Then Yoshino lowered her head to his chest again, and Shouma let out a slow breath above her hair. He’d wanted to kiss her on the dance floor. He wanted to now. But she’d had four drinks, and he wasn’t going to let that be the reason either of them looked back on tonight with regret.

Eventually she straightened. “I need the bathroom.”

“Okay.”

She headed for the interior hallway. A few steps in, she heard him behind her and turned. “I don’t need an escort.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you following me?”

“I’m going inside.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Fine but you can’t come into the bathroom. You used to do that in highschool.”

He shrugged as Yoshino went into the bathroom. Shouma stopped at the mouth of the hallway and put his back to the wall, where he could see both the door and the room beyond it. It was where he always stood.

A minute later, a woman passed him. He knew her before she’d gone two steps.

Takamura.

Arisa went into the bathroom without looking at him. Shouma watched the door swing shut. “Tch.”

Inside, Yoshino leaned toward the mirror. Her cheeks were pink, though her head felt clearer than it had on the terrace. “Okay,” she murmured. “Not that bad.”

The door opened. The woman who came in was pretty in a careful way, with long dark hair and a dress cut for exactly this kind of party. Yoshino smiled at her. “Hi.”

Arisa smiled back. “Hello.”

Yoshino turned on the tap. “Sorry. I’ve had a few drinks. I’m just getting freshened up, and then the mirror is all yours.”

Arisa watched her in the mirror. “You came with Shouma, didn’t you?”

Yoshino looked up. “Yeah…”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since we were kids. We grew up together.”

Arisa leaned a hip against the counter. “So you’re close.”

Yoshino dried her hands. “Very…” She looked at Arisa a moment longer. “So, you know him huh?”

“I do.”

Yoshino tilted her head. “Did you date him?”

Arisa blinked. “How did you know?”

“You’ve asked a lot of questions about him.” Yoshino laughed lightly. “Sorry. That was probably rude.”

“It’s fine.” Arisa folded her arms. “We were together for a while. He was seeing other women at the time.”

Yoshino’s smile thinned. She wasn’t surprised. She knew enough about the fact that there was always a girl chasing Shouma since highschool and even about a year ago. What she didn’t care for was the way Arisa set it in front of her, like a card laid face up. Before she could answer, the door opened. Shouma walked in.

Arisa straightened. “Shouma?”

He looked at her without any expression at all. “Takamura.”

Yoshino turned. “Shouma, what the hell are you doing in here?”

He crossed the bathroom and took her hand. His grip was gentle. His voice wasn’t, but it wasn’t aimed at her. “Come on.”

“I’m almost done.”

“You’ve been in here long enough.”

He guided her toward the door. Arisa followed them out. “SHOUMA WAIT.”

He stopped in the hallway and turned. “What.”

“I was just talking to her.”

“Ok, and what the fuck is your point? WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

Arisa frowned. “What the hell? You were an asshole then and you’re still an asshole. I fucking hate you.”

“So you just wanted to say that to me? Cool. Now leave Yoshino alone.”

Yoshino looked between them. “Shouma, it’s fine.”

His eyes went to her briefly, and something in his face eased for the length of that glance. Then they went back to Arisa, and it was gone.

“What is she to you, anyway?” Arisa asked.

Shouma went very still. “My fiancée.”

Yoshino stopped breathing for a second.

Arisa stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He shifted his weight, and without seeming to step anywhere, he was between the two women. “She’s Renji’s granddaughter. She’s staying with me. I don’t want you near her.”

Arisa’s mouth tightened. “Since when are you engaged?”

He didn’t answer the question. “Stay away from her.”

Yoshino looked up at him. He kept his eyes on Arisa. Across the party, Tsubaki sat in an armchair near the main lounge with a drink balanced on her knee, watching the hallway from a comfortable distance. She knew Arisa through Ryuichi Minami, an acquaintance of Akira’s who had done business with their families now and then. Tsubaki had never had much interest in Arisa, though she’d caught the woman watching Akira more than once, and had found that irritating. Then she’d learned Arisa used to be with Shouma. That had been more useful. Tsubaki knew her cousin. She knew what Yoshino had spent years refusing to talk about. She also knew Shouma, who wasn’t civil to most women at best and was something else entirely with Yoshino, whether or not he realized anyone could see it. Arisa, she’d suspected, wouldn’t take Yoshino’s return well. Tsubaki sipped her drink. She hadn’t needed to do anything. She’d only needed to make sure they were in the same building.

In the hallway, Arisa looked past Shouma at Yoshino. “I don’t believe you.”

Yoshino’s expression changed. Arisa went on before Shouma could speak. “You’re seriously telling me you’re engaged to him? There’s no fucking way.”

Shouma’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what I said.”

Arisa looked Yoshino up and down. “I don’t understand what he sees in you.”

Yoshino straightened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Enough,” Shouma said.

Arisa ignored him. “If he’s marrying you, it’s because your grandfather told him to. Everyone knows who he works for.”

Shouma’s voice dropped. It wasn’t louder. It was lower, and flatter, and the two women nearest the hallway entrance stopped their conversation to look over. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Why? Am I wrong?”

“If I marry Yoshino,” he said, “it’ll be because I want to.”

Yoshino turned to look at him. He didn’t look away from Arisa.

Arisa held his stare, then moved her eyes back to Yoshino. “You really think he could love you? You’re his responsibility.”

Yoshino took a step forward. Shouma’s arm caught her around the waist before she could take another. “No.”

“Shouma.”

“Don’t.”

“Let me go, I’ll beat her ass if she thinks she can talk slick to me like that, the FUCK.”

“No.”

She pushed against his arm. “She doesn’t get to talk to me like that.”

“I know.”

“Then let me handle it.”

“Not here. I know you’re strong enough to do so, but NOT here.”

He turned her toward the terrace, his arm firm around her waist. Shouma and Yoshino stood at the entrance between the hallway and the main room, and he looked back at Arisa. “If you have a problem with me, bring it to me. Don’t involve her.” He waited a beat. “And don’t come near her again.”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

By the time they reached the quiet side of the rooftop, Yoshino was a good deal more sober.

Shouma stopped and looked down at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He watched her face. “You sure?”

“I’m fine.”

She looked irritated rather than shaken. He decided he could live with that. “Can you ride?”

She considered it. “Give me a little while.”

“Or we take a taxi.”

“No.”

“Yoshino.”

“I want to go home with you.”

He glanced down at the motorcycle bays below the building. “You need to be able to hold on.”

“I know.”

He tipped his head toward an empty bamboo loveseat near the edge of the terrace. “Come on.”

They sat while the party wound down. The music had been turned down, and the event staff were setting up equipment for a drone display.. Yoshino looked out at the city. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then she turned to him. “Fiancée?”

Shouma leaned back. “We’re not.”

“I know.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m starting to think I should just tell people that.”

“Seriously?”

“It seems to be the only thing that gets them to leave you alone.”

She thought about that. “Your ex-girlfriends, you mean.”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry.”

She smiled a little. “I’m just saying.”

“I didn’t see any of them for months. You come back, and now they’re everywhere.”

She laughed.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s funny.”

“Not to me.”

Yoshino thought about the women she’d run into since she’d come home. Kanomiya had been unpleasant. Arisa had been worse. It wasn’t hard to see why either of them might resent her. That didn’t mean she wanted to spend her time in Kyoto defending herself to Shouma’s past.

“Fine,” she said.

“What’s fine?”

“I’ll say I’m your fiancée.”

He studied her. “If you’re okay with it.”

She shrugged. “It’ll save us trouble.”

He nodded. “Then fine.”

He moved over on the loveseat to give her room. Yoshino frowned at once. “Why are you moving?”

“Giving you space.”

“I didn’t ask for space.”

He looked at her. She slid toward him. “Come here.”

“I’m right here.”

“Then let me lean on you.”

He sighed, but he lifted his arm. She settled against his side with her head tucked beneath his chin, and his arm came down around her shoulders. Across the terrace, Arisa saw them. She watched Yoshino fold herself against Shouma, and watched his arm stay where it was, as if he’d forgotten there was anyone else on the roof. Her expression tightened. A moment later she went to Ryuichi and told him she wanted to leave.

Yoshino waited until they’d gone. “Are they gone?”

Shouma glanced at the exit. “Yeah.”

She let her weight sink against him.

“You can move now,” he said.

She looked up. “Do you want me to?”

He met her eyes. “No.”

“Then I’m staying.”

“Fine.”

She tucked in closer. “It’s cold anyway.”

He shrugged his jacket off and put it around her shoulders, drawing the front together over her collarbones before he settled his arm back in place.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

The first drones lifted a short while later. Small lights rose above the neighboring rooftops and spread into slow, careful shapes, and the conversations on the terrace faded as people turned to watch.

Yoshino watched from beneath his chin. His hand rested on her upper arm, his thumb moving now and then across the leather of the jacket. A few couples sat nearby under the open sky. None of them paid any attention to the two on the bamboo seat.

After a while, Yoshino lifted her head and Shouma looked down. Their faces were closer than she’d judged. Her eyes went to his mouth and he saw it. When his eyes came back to hers, something in his face had shifted. She leaned in. He didn’t pull back. Above them, the lights broke apart and came together in a new shape. Yoshino had stopped watching them. Shouma raised his hand and moved a loose strand of hair off her cheek, and his fingers stayed there, resting along her jaw. She turned her face into his palm.

“You’ve been drinking,” he said quietly.

Her face fell. “Shouma.”

“Yoshino.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve had four.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You’re tipsy.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He lowered his hand. She caught it before it could leave.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like nothing was happening.”

He said nothing and she held his gaze. “I know what you were about to do.” A pause. “So do you.”

He looked down at their hands. “Yeah.”

The admission stopped her for a moment. “Then why did you stop?”

“You know why.”

“Because I drank.”

“Yeah.”

She sighed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It isn’t.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you think you do.”

Her brows drew together. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“I’m not.”

“Then stop deciding everything for me.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Ask me tomorrow.”

She blinked. “What?”

“If you still want to kiss me tomorrow, ask me then.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look away. She let go of his hand. “You’re annoying.”

She put her head back on his chest. His arm came around her again, and this time he held on a little tighter than before. The drones kept moving overhead. Neither of them said anything for a while.

By the time they got up to leave, Yoshino felt clear-headed. Shouma wasn’t satisfied with that. He made her drink a full glass of water and sit another fifteen minutes, then had her walk the length of the terrace while he watched her feet. She stopped at the end and turned. “Are you happy?”

“Mostly.”

“This is humiliating.”

“Stop complaining; this is for your safety.”

She folded her arms. “I can walk fine.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why do I still have to do this?”

He checked his watch. “Because I want to be sure. But you’re good now, so let’s go.”

She sighed and followed him out. In the parking bay, a young valet saw Shouma coming and stepped back from the Kawasaki without being told, eyes lowered. Shouma didn’t look at him. He took Yoshino’s boots from the side case and crouched in front of her. This time she didn’t tease him. She watched his hands as he unbuckled the straps at her ankles and eased off her heels one at a time, cupping her heel so her bare foot didn’t touch the concrete before the boot was ready for it.

When he’d finished, he stood and handed her the helmet. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He checked the strap under her chin, pressing two fingers beneath it to test the fit, before he put on his own. She climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He looked down at her hands. “Good?”

“Good.”

“If you get dizzy, tell me.”

“I will.”

“Tap twice if something’s wrong.”

“I know.”

He started the bike. The ride home was quieter than the ride out. The streets had mostly emptied, and the night air had cooled. He took the corners more slowly than he usually did. Yoshino rested against his back and leaned when he leaned. Neither of them spoke.

The townhouse was dark when they came in. Shouma locked the door, hung his jacket by the entrance, and pulled the sleeveless turtleneck over his head before he’d taken another step.

“Finally,” he muttered, dropping the shirt over one shoulder and rubbing the back of his neck. “Those people were exhausting as hell.”

Yoshino watched him. The ink on his arms ran up over his shoulders, and the dragon across his back shifted with the muscle underneath as he turned toward the stairs. She’d seen it before, of course. That didn’t help. He glanced back. “What?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve said that a lot today.”

“Because you keep asking.”

He shook his head and started up the stairs to the second floor. She followed with her heels in her hand. At the bedroom door, she stopped and looked down at her boots. “Help me.”

He turned. “With what?”

“These.”

“Yoshino, no worn shoes in the house. You know this.”

“I know, but I’m so tired. Please help me take them off.”

She put a hand on his shoulder for balance, and his hand found her waist before she’d finished the motion.

She lifted one foot and reached for the strap, and her balance went. “Whoa—”

His grip tightened before she could fall. Her free hand hit the wall, and he set his feet and held them both steady. For a moment they stayed that way, her arm hooked around his neck, his hand flat at her waist.

She straightened slowly. “Okay.”

“You all right?”

“Yeah.”

He waited for her to let go. She didn’t. She looked straight at him. “I want to finish what we started.”

His face changed. “Yoshino.”

“At the party.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

He sighed. “Because we already talked about this.”

She searched his face. “Is it because you don’t find me attractive?”

His brows drew together. “What?”

She looked away. “I’m not like the women you usually date.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Kanomiya’s pretty. Arisa’s pretty.”

“Yoshino.”

She looked back. He waited until she was really looking at him. “Stop comparing yourself to them.”

Her face tightened. “I’m not trying to.”

“You are.”

She went quiet. His hand stayed at her waist. “They didn’t matter to me,” he said. Then, more quietly: “They matter. You matter. So stop comparing yourself.”

She studied him, trying to work out how far he meant it. “Then kiss me.”

His jaw set. “Not tonight.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I know. But I’m not drunk dude.” He shook his head. She stepped closer. “I want you to.”

He didn’t move.

She lowered her voice. “And you don’t have to keep your eyes open with me.”

His eyes are unwavering right now. I know that I hit a heartstring…maybe…

She remembered when he’d admitted, almost in passing, that he’d never closed his eyes when he kissed anyone. She’d thought about that more than she would have told him.

He looked at her for a long time. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“I wouldn’t do that with you. I wouldn’t keep my eyes open.”

Her grip on his shoulder loosened.

“But we’re not doing this tonight,” he went on, before she could say anything.

“Shouma.”

“Tomorrow.”

She searched his face. “You mean that?”

“Yeah.”

She looked away so he wouldn’t see what the answer did to her. He put a finger under her chin and turned her face back to his. “Go get ready for bed.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

He kept hold of her until she’d found her balance, then let go. She took off her boots and settled them into the entrance closet.

She took two steps and turned. “Shouma?”

“What.”

“If I ask you tomorrow, you’ll actually answer?”

He held her gaze. “Yeah.”

A small smile. “Okay.”

In the bedroom, Yoshino stood by the bed, reaching back for the zipper of her dress and not getting far. Shouma had come in to collect a clean shirt when she turned. “Can you help me?”

He looked up. “With what?”

“The zipper.”

She turned her back to him. He hesitated before he crossed the room. “Hold still.”

She gathered her hair over one shoulder. He took the zipper between two fingers and drew it down. The stiff fabric loosened along her spine. His knuckles brushed her skin once, and he stopped.

She met his eyes in the mirror. “Keep going.”

He finished, and stepped back. “Done.”

She held the dress against her front and began to ease it off her shoulders. Shouma’s eyes went to the mirror before he understood what he was seeing, and he turned around.

She’d noticed. “You can look.”

“I’m not.”

“Look at me.”

Shouma’s eyes flickered at the mirror and for a second he caught sight of her bare breasts. He turned away immediately.

She looked at his back, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s fine. I should be the one that’s sorry.”

“Don’t be. I want you to see me. Even though it’s kind of embarrassing.” She pulled the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then, after a moment, “You don’t have to apologize for looking at me.”

He kept his back to her. She tucked the sheet tighter. “I want you to be able to.”

He was quiet for a while. “Okay.”

She climbed under the covers, the sheet still wound around her.

He went to the door. “Goodnight.”

She looked up. “Where are you going?”

“My room.”

“Stay.”

He stopped. “Yoshino.”

“Please.”

He turned around. She pulled the covers higher. “Just lie down with me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Let me get a shirt.”

“You don’t need one.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m covered,” she said.

“That isn’t the point.”

“I know.” She looked at him. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He stood in the doorway a moment longer. Then he sighed. “Move over.”

She smiled and slid to the far side of the mattress. He lay down beside her and left a careful gap between them. She turned to face him. “Closer.”

“No.”

“Shouma.”

“NO.”

She frowned. “I’m not asking you to do anything.”

“I know.”

“Then come here.”

He looked at the ceiling. “You’re making this difficult.”

“I’m asking you to hold me.”

He turned his head. “You’ve had a lot to drink.”

“And you’ve spent the entire night reminding me. It’s actually been almost 3 hours since my last drink. I’m sobered the fuck up.”

He let out a quiet breath. She moved toward him, keeping the sheet tight. After a moment, he slid an arm beneath her shoulders and drew her in. She relaxed against him. For several minutes neither spoke. The only sound was traffic somewhere beyond the townhouse. Shouma lay awake, aware of every place she was touching him. He was used to sleeping next to her. Tonight wasn’t that. She’d told him plainly what she wanted, and he’d spent the whole evening holding a line he’d drawn for himself a long time ago.

She shifted. His body answered before he could stop it, and he went rigid. She noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She lifted her head. “Shouma?”

He pulled away and sat up. She watched him, confused. Then she understood, and heat rose in her face.

He stood beside the bed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

She tightened the sheet. “Shouma.”

He kept his eyes on the floor. “I shouldn’t have gotten in.”

“Why?”

He gave her a look. “You know why.”

She studied him. “You didn’t do anything.”

He looked away. “I know.”

“Then why are you acting like you did?”

He didn’t answer. She sat up a little. “Your body reacted. That isn’t the same as doing something to me. You got up because you didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He hesitated. She waited.

“I don’t want you thinking I’m like Kirishima.”

Her face softened. “Shouma.”

He looked toward the window. “I know what he did. I know how he treated you.”

“And you’re not him.”

He said nothing. She held out her hand. “Come back.”

He shook his head. “Yoshino.”

“Please.” She kept her hand out. “I trust you.”

He shut his eyes for a moment. That was the whole reason he was being careful. She moved farther across the mattress. “We can face each other instead.”

He opened his eyes. “What?”

“There’s more room that way.” She gestured at the space she’d made. “We don’t have to lie so close.”

He looked at the arrangement. Then at her. “This is ridiculous.”

She laughed. “A little.”

“You’re making me practice celibacy in the most awkward way in MY own house.”

She laughed harder, “You mean OUR house since eventually I’m going to be living here AND, I’m your pseudo-fiance.”

His expression flattened. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, still smiling. “Come here.”

He looked at the bed a moment longer. Then he came back. This time he lay facing her, keeping a deliberate space between them below the waist.

She settled on her side. “Better?”

He glanced down. “Marginally.”

“See?”

He sighed. She reached across the gap. He looked at her hand, then took it. She moved her head and shoulders in until her forehead rested against his chest. His arm came around her. For a while, they were quiet. She could hear his heart under her ear, still running faster than it should.

“Shouma?”

“What.”

“If I ask you tomorrow—”

“Ask me tomorrow,” he said, gently.

She lifted her head. “And you’ll answer?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

A moment passed. She looked up again. “Will you really close your eyes?”

He groaned. “Go to sleep.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

She waited.

He looked down at her. “Yes.”

She smiled and laid her cheek against his chest.

He moved his fingers slowly through her hair. For years he’d told himself that staying near her was enough. He’d given Renji his loyalty and had never let himself want anything from her that sat outside it. Now she was lying against him, asking him questions he’d spent his adult life making sure no one asked.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. He knew he couldn’t go on pretending nothing had moved.

She stirred. “Are you comfortable?”

“No.”

She laughed softly. “Why not?”

“Because you’re wearing a bedsheet, and I’ve spent all night trying not to kiss you.”

“Wow, I think this is the most honest you’ve been all year.”

“Mhm.”

She lifted her head to look at him. He looked tired, but the hardness he carried around his eyes in public had gone out of them. She smiled and settled her head under his chin. He adjusted his arm around her, careful not to disturb the sheet between them. Her breathing slowed. After a while her fingers tightened around his, and he pressed back. Neither of them spoke again. The space they’d left between them stayed where it was, though neither seemed in any hurry to widen it. Yoshino fell asleep with her cheek against his chest. Shouma stayed awake a little longer, watching the curtain shift at the edge of the window. Then he closed his eyes, her hand still in his.