Before Akira got out of the tub, I managed to convince myself that it was the butterflies from multiple orgasms that made me think the way I did. I didn't miss him. I missed the sex. I missed the acts we did. I missed the companionship.
Not him. It could never be him.
Albeit it was hard to do that while his arms were wrapped around my waist, but I did it. I didn't miss Kawashita Akira. I just needed the constant reminder. I was confused and intoxicated from the pleasure.
Everything was fine. Everything was perfect. Everything was normal.
Akira got out first as usual after placing a kiss on my temple. I followed him in after a minute. I found a gray yukata for change and a hanten, a dark blue cotton-padded jacket. I was tying the obi, straightening the thin cloth belt when I felt eyes on me. I glanced up and saw Akira standing at the doorway.
My jaw dropped. All Mine started playing in my head. The words I told myself earlier fell away. The heat of my body rushed to my head. I was malfunctioning. My mind refused to process any words other than collarbones, yukata, sexy, and gorgeous. Maybe I did truly miss him. How could I not when he was like this?
My heart squeezed, and I longed to avert my eyes, to stop myself from truly falling. But a part of me didn't want to. It ached to be filled.
"Senpai, Reiko-senpai." A hand waved in front of my face. "Let's go back, so you can sleep before dinner."
Blinking, I gulped but found my throat dry. I tried again to look elsewhere but failed miserably, earning a gurgling chuckle from Akira. He took the obi from my hands.
"I should probably wear yukata more often, huh?" Amusement laced his voice as he tightened the obi. Then he put his hands on his hips, assessing his work when his brows furrowed. Alarm reflected on his eyes. "Senpai, your nose is bleeding."
My hand moved on its own, touching my upper lip, feeling the trickling liquid. I saw red and blinked twice, woozy. It was all I needed to broke the spell. My knees buckled, but Akira caught me in the elbow, steadying me before he grabbed a tissue.
"What did I tell you? You always stay too long in the bath," he chided, clicking his tongue, pressing the tissue on my nose before his lips curled into a teasing grin. "Or were you thinking something dirty?"
"I wasn't." I frowned and shoved him with my left which he caught. The spell—happiness, longing, and despair—rose up again. I stared at our clasp hands. I was thinking about how much I wanted to keep you.
"Come on. Let's get you to bed," he said as he slid his hand to hold mine. "Hold on to me. I don't want you staggering."
I did as he asked, squeezing his hand. We walked down the halls in silence. Not because I was tired. I was afraid I'd end up saying the wrong thing. That whatever this was might spill out, unfiltered and raw. Maybe this was how I keep him. Just holding on without saying anything.