The apartment was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the slivers of a neon sign filtering through the half-closed blinds. The low hum of the city outside added an edge of stillness to the room as Hen Akoto stood in the doorway, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.
Meg leaned against the kitchen counter, her hazel eyes fixed on him as a slow, knowing smile tugged at her lips. Dressed in a loose tank top and shorts that clung to her form, she exuded casual confidence, the kind that drew people in effortlessly. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze running over him like she was sizing him up.
"Didn't think you'd show," she teased, her voice soft and playful.
Hen shrugged, avoiding her gaze as he stepped further into the room. "You called," he muttered, his tone gruff, a little too curt.
Meg pushed off the counter, walking toward him with deliberate slowness. Her fingertips brushed along the edge of his jacket, and with a smirk, she tugged it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. "You don't have to act so stiff, Hen," she whispered, standing close enough for her warmth to press against him. "You know why you're here."
Hen didn't respond—he didn't need to. His hands found her waist, and she let out a soft hum of approval as she leaned in. Lips met, slow and purposeful, her hands moving up to tangle in his red-orange hair. Hen's movements were mechanical at first, his mind distant, but he let himself fall into the familiarity of it—her touch, the scent of her perfume, the heat between them.
The two stumbled back into her bedroom, Meg pulling him down onto the bed as the tension grew heavier. Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, pushing it up as his lips ghosted along her neck. "That's more like it," she whispered, her breath hitching when Hen hovered over her. She tugged him down, pulling him closer.
But as he moved, something shifted in his mind. The room began to blur—Meg's face, her voice, the moment itself—until it all faded into something else, someone else.
"Niko," it came again, soft and unmistakably familiar. "I do like it too."
Hisashi.
The thought crept in like a thief, uninvited and jarring. His movements slowed, his breath faltering as the image sharpened in his mind. Hisashi's dark curls cascading across the pillow. Her soft laughter echoing faintly. Her lips parting to call his name—Niko—and the way she'd look at him with those fiery, determined eyes.
Hisashi.
Hen froze, his heart slamming against his chest like a war drum. His breathing grew ragged as the reality of the moment came crashing back. He blinked down, his breath catching as golden blonde waves slowly came back into focus. For the briefest, damning moment, they hadn't been blonde at all. They had been dark and silky, framing a face that wasn't Meg's. He blinked hard, staring down at Meg, whose face was flushed, her expression shifting to confusion as she noticed the change in him.
"Hen?" she whispered, her brow furrowing as she cupped the side of his face. "What's wrong?"
He jolted back like he'd been burned, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his back to her. "I can't," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his voice strained and uneven.
Meg sat up, pulling the sheet around her as disbelief flashed across her face. "What do you mean you can't? What's going on?"
Hen stood abruptly, grabbing his shirt from where it had fallen on the floor and pulling it over his head with sharp, jerky movements. "This was a mistake," he said, his voice low but firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. "I shouldn't have come."
"A mistake?" Meg repeated, anger and hurt lacing her tone as she swung her legs off the bed. "You didn't think it was a mistake ten minutes ago."
Hen paused at the door, his fingers resting on the handle. His shoulders were tense, his head bowed. "I'm sorry," he said softly, guilt heavy in his voice. "You don't deserve this."
"Says the person who's leaving me all worked up."
Her accusation hit like a slap, and his frustration spilled over. "You're a grown woman, Meg," he snapped, his voice rough, cutting. "You know damn well how to deal with it."
Her expression darkened, her lips parting with the start of a retort. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone icy, challenging.
But Hen didn't answer. He couldn't. The shame that clawed at his chest was too much. The words that might have explained himself—might have confessed to the citrus ghost haunting his every thought—stayed locked inside, too tangled with shame to escape.Meg deserved someone who could give her more than this broken version of himself.
Without another word, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the hurt and confusion lingering in the room behind him.
The cool night air hit him like a slap as he stepped outside, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He walked to his car, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like lead.
Hisashi.
Her name echoed in his mind, the realization hitting him like a freight train. She was in his thoughts, in his dreams, and now she had followed him here, invading the one thing he had kept simple. And it wasn't fair—to Meg, to himself, or to her.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenching as he stared at his steering wheel.
For the first time in a long while, Hen Akoto Takawara felt lost, unsure of what he wanted, but knowing exactly who he couldn't stop thinking about.
______
The city streets were alive with energy as Xiangua navigated her way through the marketplace, clutching a list her sister had scribbled down for her. The scents of roasted chestnuts and sizzling street food mingled with the faint whiff of fresh flowers from a nearby vendor, grounding her in the moment. Despite her focus on her task, her mind kept wandering to her sister's upcoming party and the seemingly endless errands it entailed.
She turned a corner too quickly, her arms full of bags, and collided with a firm figure. The impact sent her stumbling slightly, and several apples tumbled to the ground.
"Whoa, careful there!" The voice that greeted her was smooth and familiar, tinged with playful amusement. A hand steadied her before she could lose her balance.
Looking up, Xiangua froze. Standing before her was Yuri Kurosawa, the man she'd only ever seen at a distance In Hisashi's crew gathering—or in magazines, to be exact. His dark blue eyes held a spark of mischief, and his soft, messy black hair framed his face like a well-orchestrated photo shoot. He was dressed down today, in a simple sweater and jeans, yet somehow, he still radiated the charisma of an idol.
"Yuri?" she managed to blurt out, her voice betraying her surprise.
"Well, I didn't expect to meet you here," Yuri said, crouching to retrieve the apples that had rolled near his feet. His tone was casual, but the slight smirk tugging at his lips revealed he recognized her too. "Xiangu… right?"
"Xiangua," she corrected quickly, taking the apples he handed back to her. Her heart raced as she tried to suppress the warmth creeping up her neck. "What are you doing here?"
"Just picking up a few things," he said, lifting the bag in his hand. "Even psychologists-slash-idols need to eat, you know."
"You're shopping… here?" Xiangua raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in her tone.
"Why not?" Yuri's smirk deepened as he stood. "Good produce, interesting people. And clearly, fate has excellent timing."
She rolled her eyes, trying to steady her nerves. "If fate has such good timing, why'd it make me bump into you with all my groceries?"
Yuri chuckled, leaning slightly closer. "Maybe it's trying to tell you something."
"Like what? To avoid sharp corners?" she quipped, her voice sharper than she intended, though her eyes betrayed her amusement.
"Or to slow down," Yuri countered, his gaze steady on her. "You seem like the kind of person who's always on the move."
Xiangua stiffened slightly. "I've got things to do," she said, adjusting her grip on her bags. "Not everyone has the luxury of strolling through life like they're on a runway."
Yuri tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Touché. But sometimes, taking a moment can surprise you."
Xiangua exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest. "Well, thanks for the philosophical insight. I should get going."
As she turned to leave, Yuri's voice stopped her. "How about I make up for the collision? Coffee, maybe?"
Xiangua hesitated, gripping her bags tighter. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't even know me."
"True," Yuri admitted with a shrug, "but I'd like to. Something tells me you're worth knowing."
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought the smile threatening to break through. "I'll think about it," she said, her tone dismissive as she turned back toward her path.
"Don't think too hard!" Yuri called after her, his grin widening as she walked away.
As she disappeared into the crowd, Xiangua let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Get a grip," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. Yet, despite her best efforts, the image of Yuri's easy smile and playful charm lingered in her mind, refusing to be ignored.