The door clicked shut, the sound reverberating through the sudden stillness. Her heart pounded in her chest, a chaotic rhythm of anger and anticipation as she faced Hikaru. His blue eyes locked onto hers, that familiar gaze pulling at her, stirring up a torrent of memories and emotions she had tried so hard to bury.
They stood frozen, mere feet apart, the tension crackling in the air between them. Neither dared to speak first, as if the slightest word could shatter the fragile balance. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings threatening to overwhelm her.
As she met his gaze, she felt the old longing flare up, an ache in her chest she couldn't ignore. God help her, but she still loved him. Despite the pain, the betrayal, the shattered promises - a part of her would always belong to him.
They had weathered storms together, forged an unbreakable bond through the darkest times. When the industry turned its back on her, when fair-weather friends faded away, when even her own mother disowned her – He had been her rock. He kept her grounded, pulled her back from the brink of despair more times than she could count.
Now, in this unexpected moment, all those memories came flooding back. The late night talks, the shared laughter, the spark between them that had never quite died. She swallowed hard, her heart fluttering traitorously in her chest as she drank in the sight of him.
He looked just as she remembered, all sharp angles and devastating handsomeness. The tailored suit hugged his lean frame, the deep red of his tie making his eyes seem even more intense. For a moment, she let herself imagine reaching out, running her fingers through his reddish brown hair like she used to.
No. She couldn't let herself go there, not again. Too much had happened, too many bridges burned. They weren't those starry-eyed lovers anymore; time and circumstance had changed them both. leaving scars that might never fully heal.
Yet here they were, drawn back into each other's orbit by some cruel twist of fate. Her pulse raced as she watched Hikaru, trying to read the emotions flickering behind that carefully guarded mask. Did he feel it too - the weight of their history, the undeniable pull between them?
She wanted to scream, to rage at him for showing up like this, for ripping open wounds that had barely begun to scab over. But she also ached to reach out, to lose herself in his arms one more time and forget the rest of the world existed.
In that charged moment, anything seemed possible. The past, the present, the uncertain future - it all hung in the balance, waiting for one of them to make a move. She held her breath, trapped between anger and desire, as she met Hikaru's piercing gaze head-on.
She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself as Hikaru's voice broke the tension that hung thick in the air between them. His words, soft yet weighted, seemed to echo in the confines of the private room, mingling with the distant thrum of the VMA crowd beyond the door.
"You look good," His blue eyes tracing the lines of her Versace dress with an appreciation that felt both familiar and foreign. "Versace, right?"
She nodded, a reflexive "Yes" falling from her lips as she struggled to reconcile the man before her with the memories that haunted her. The Hikaru she knew, the one who had been her rock and her refuge, seemed like a distant dream now, obscured by the harsh realities of their present.
Hikaru's expression shifted, a flicker of something raw breaking through his polished facade. His voice was softer than she expected when he finally spoke.
"Your mother's been reaching out to me, Kay. She says she hasn't heard from you in six months and… she's worried."
She snorted, a bitter laugh tumbling out before she could stop it. "Since when do you care about my Momma's concerns? Did you two suddenly become best friends when I wasn't looking?"
He didn't rise to the bait, but the muscle in his jaw tightened—a tell-tale sign her words had struck a nerve. Good. Let him feel a fraction of the chaos churning inside her.
"I'm not ghosting anyone. I'm on vacation, remember? You told Instagram that yourself months ago."
But even as she said it, doubt crept into her own voice. Her momma's teary voicemail replayed in her mind—Kay, baby, just let me know you're okay. I can't keep hearing things second-hand. Hearing things had been her momma's code for the industry rumors.
She turned back to Hikaru, her defenses climbing higher. "And why would my momma call you, anyway? Shouldn't she be talking to me?"
"Maybe because you've been dodging her calls," Hikaru shot back, his voice tinged with frustration. "She cares about you, Olivia. We both do."
His tone—genuine, almost pleading—threw her off balance, and she hated him for it. Hated the way he could still cut through her walls, even after everything. No. Focus. Don't let him take control of the narrative.
"Speaking of concerns," her amber eyes narrowing. "What's this I hear about you and Cindy West? The rumors are swirling, Mr. Hitachi. Planning to replace me, are you?"
The accusation hung between them, weighted with their shared history and her unspoken fears. She searched his face for a reaction, and for a split second, she saw it—a flash of genuine surprise. But Hikaru was nothing if not composed. His expression slipped back into practiced neutrality.
"Cindy West?" He frowned. "What are you talking about?"
She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a low hiss. "Don't play dumb. Bobby told me, okay? He heard it from Starisha, and she got it straight from the horse's mouth—Marisol Mendoza. You've been meeting with Cindy about taking my spot."
Her heart pounded as the words spilled out, driven by a potent cocktail of anger, fear, and the deep-seated insecurities that Brandy had so neatly unearthed just hours ago. "Do you think the industry still sees you as a star, or a liability?" Brandy's question echoed in her mind, along with Bobby's warning: "Hikaru's been having a lot of closed-door meetings lately. Just... keep your eyes open, Kay."
She could picture it all too clearly: Hikaru and Cindy in some sleek, glass-walled boardroom, their heads bent together as they dissected her career. The image made her stomach churn.
Hikaru's brow furrowed, and he shook his head slowly. "I haven't had any meetings with Cindy about replacing you. That's ridiculous. It would require me to buy out her contract with Wonder Music, which isn't happening. I have no intention of letting you go, Kay."
His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You're still under contract with Hitcon. You've always been one of my top artists. I don't know who started these rumors, but they're lies."
She wanted to believe him—wanted it so badly it hurt. But the doubt had already taken root, nurtured by months of sidelong glances, whispered gossip, and every lingering shadow of her own insecurities.
"You can't expect me to just take your word for it," her voice quieter now, but no less charged. "Not when the entire industry is watching me fall apart."
His face softened at that, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. "Kay," he said, his voice lower now, "you're not falling apart. I know it feels like everything's against you right now, but—"
"Don't," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "Don't try to fix me. You're not my savior, Hik."
She turned away, willing herself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of him. The silence between them stretched thin, heavy with words they couldn't—or wouldn't—say.
"So... What do you want, Hik?" she asked, hating the way her voice wavered, even as she tried to hold his gaze.
His expression barely shifted—just a tightening of his jaw, the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He looked so composed, so maddeningly in control, as always. "I want to talk about your future with the label."
The words landed with a dull thud in the charged space between them. He stood there, spine straight, hands tucked neatly into his pockets, every inch the polished businessman. But there was something in his eyes—something that made her stomach churn.
"About what you plan on doing," he continued, his tone clipped, brooking no argument. "You still have contracts to fulfill."
She crossed her arms, the motion more for comfort than defiance. "I'm listening…" The pounding in her chest was impossible to ignore. The weight of his words pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.
He hesitated. It was brief—a pause so small anyone else might've missed it—but she saw it. She always saw it.
"The three million dollars I gave you," he said, his voice sharp, deliberate.
It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, her breath caught. A chill ran down her spine as the realization dawned. "Wait... What?" she stammered, her mind scrambling to catch up.
"The three million dollars," he repeated, slowly, like he was explaining it to a child. "From two years ago."
Her stomach twisted. Christmas. The money. A gift, he'd called it then. No strings attached. Her chest tightened as disbelief coursed through her.
"You're joking," she said, though her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm dead serious." His words cut through her like a knife.
She forced herself to hold his gaze, though it felt like it might kill her. "I don't owe you anything," she snarled.
"You gave me that money. Freely. You said—"
"I said what I needed to say to make sure you'd take it," he interrupted, his tone colder now, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the steel beneath.
The room tilted slightly, or maybe it was just her. She shook her head, struggling to process the enormity of what he was saying. "It was a gift," she insisted, but the words felt weak, hollow, even to her own ears.
"It's really six million with interest," he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "But I'm knocking three off for you."
"Six million?" The words barely made it past her lips. She blinked at him, as though the weight of his betrayal might disappear if she looked hard enough. "Plus interest? You can't be serious."
"You're surprised I want my money back?" he asked, his tone infuriatingly even, almost mocking. His blue eyes, usually so guarded, were piercing now, cutting straight through her defenses.
The air between them crackled, the silence heavy and oppressive. "You're really going to stand there," her voice rising, trembling with disbelief, "and demand your money back? Like you're my fucking pimp?"
The laugh that escaped her was harsh and bitter, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
His mask was slipping now—no, not slipping, cracking. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his mouth tightened into a thin, furious line.
"Fuck you," she spat, the words raw and unfiltered, tearing from her throat like they'd been waiting there all along. "I'm not giving you back shit."
Her arms fell from their protective position around her chest, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "I'm not one of your boulevard sluts. You don't get to play Indian giver with me, Hikaru."
His jaw clenched, his composure fraying at the edges. "Don't—"
"Don't what?" she snapped, stepping closer. "Don't tell you the truth? Don't call you out for who you really are?" Her voice cracked, but she didn't care.
She shook her head, biting back the tears that threatened to spill. "You think you can just rip my heart out, toss me aside like I was nothing, and then—what? Come back a year later with a bill?!"
His mask was gone now, shattered completely. "I didn't toss you aside," he said, his voice low, dangerous.
"Didn't you?" Her voice wavered, but she refused to look away. "Because that's exactly what it felt like when your family found out about us."
The words hit him like a blow, and for a moment, he looked almost human—raw, vulnerable, stripped bare.
"You don't understand," he said, but his voice lacked the usual conviction.
"Then explain it to me!" she demanded, her voice breaking under the weight of everything unsaid.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his shoulders slumping as though the fight had drained out of him. The silence that followed was deafening.
And for the first time in years, she realized just how vast the distance between them had grown.
"You told me you loved me." Her voice wavered, the words heavy with accusation and lingering pain. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump rising in her throat.
"You met my family. I chose you over everything that mattered to me—my friendships, my reputation—everything."
Hikaru's lips thinned, his jaw tightening as his blue eyes burned with a mixture of hurt and anger. "And which one of us left and got a new boyfriend by the end of the week, Kay Olivia?"
"It wasn't a week; it was three months," she shot back, her voice sharp and unyielding. The memory of those hollow, painful months surged through her, tightening her chest.
"Right," he scoffed, the bitterness dripping from his voice. "And that makes it so much better."
Her composure cracked. "You were fucking other women behind my back!" she snapped, her voice trembling with fury.
Hikaru's hands clenched tighter, his tone cutting through her accusation like a blade. "With who, Kay? Give me a name."
"I don't know!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
"Exactly," he said, venom lacing his words. "So you're just throwing out accusations, accusing me of fucking around, but you can't even give me one name?"
She felt her throat constrict, her chest heaving with anger and frustration. "But you picked my friend—of all people!" His voice rose, sharp with betrayal.
"Tae-Yang?" The name left his lips like a curse, followed by a bitter laugh. "Really, Olivia? You couldn't even wait a month before jumping into bed with him!"
"I couldn't wait?" Her voice rose in disbelief, incredulity flashing in her eyes.
"Yeah!" His tone was almost mocking now, bitter and biting. "And you know Tae-Yang can't keep secrets!"
"Oh, fuck you!" she shot back, her fists clenched at her sides, trembling with rage.
"And you want to marry him?!" he spat, the words laced with disgust. "And you want to talk about being faithful?!"
Her voice cracked as she forced out a reply.
"Tae-Yang and I…" She hesitated, the words catching in her throat, her heart pounding. "Even if I did…" She paused again, feeling the warmth of anger and shame rush through her. "It's none of your goddamn business!"
Hikaru's laugh was sharp, devoid of humor, a sound that cut through her defenses. "Out of all the people in the world, you had to pick him?" His voice shook with something raw, his hands clenching into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.
Her gaze hardened, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.
"Because you couldn't stand up to your family," she spat, the bitterness pouring out unchecked. "You were so fucking ashamed of me!"
His composure cracked, his voice rising with a rare rawness. "I was NOT, and I am NOT ashamed of you!"
Her bitter laugh cut through the room like a blade. "Oh, really? You couldn't take me to lunch, couldn't take me to dinner—" She began listing them on her fingers, her voice rising with each word, her expression mocking.
"Because you are my employee!" he shot back, his tone sharp, defensive.
"I was just the 'ghetto Black girl' you liked fucking, but not being seen with!" she fired back, her voice dripping with venom.
"Olivia," he tried, his voice trembling with frustration, but she cut him off.
"So why did I pick Tae-Yang, huh?" She stepped closer, her voice escalating, her eyes blazing with fury. "Maybe I picked Tae-Yang because I knew it would fucking hurt you."
Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, his expression froze, his jaw tightening as the full weight of her admission hit him.
"Because I wanted you to feel it," she added, her voice sharp, daring him to deny it.
Hikaru's laugh was cold, devoid of warmth, and it sent a chill down her spine.
"Of course you did. Because you're fucking petty," he spat, his tone thick with disdain. "You don't even like him."
Her laugh erupted, bitter and scornful, filling the room with its jagged edges. "How the fuck do you know that?" she shot back, her voice trembling. "You don't know anything!"
His eyes burned with frustration, his mask long gone, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, suffocating, thick with months of resentment and pain.
Her hands trembled as she glared at him, her face flushed, her breath coming in shallow bursts. He stood there, his fists clenched, his expression a mixture of anger, hurt, and something else—something she couldn't quite name.
In that moment, they were both stripped bare, the walls they'd built around themselves crumbling into the dust of their shared history.
"Right, yeah, sorry," he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain, his lips curling in mockery.
"That little show you put on out there? It was pathetic and everyone knows. " He bit off the word with cold, hard finality, his gaze unyielding, slicing through her like a blade.
Her lip trembled, and she felt her heart hammering against her ribs, each beat reverberating through her chest like an impending explosion. Fury rose in her throat like bile, hot and bitter, threatening to choke her. The room seemed to shrink around them, the air suffocating, thick with the unspoken weight of everything they'd buried for too long.
"I love you too," he mocked, the words a twisted parody of tenderness. It stung worse than a slap. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, her face flushing as his voice carved through her defenses. He had no idea how much it cost her to say those words to Tae-Yang—to pretend with him.
Her breathing hitched, the tightness in her chest nearly unbearable as his blue eyes stayed locked on hers, unrelenting, daring her to crumble under the weight of his cruelty.
"You're so disgusted by him," he continued, his voice like a knife, sharp and cold. "But you don't have a choice, do you? You're forced to play into this pathetic hand you dealt yourself." His tone wavered slightly, but the words landed like blows, slicing through the fragile remnants of her composure.
"Choices?" she spat back, her voice trembling with rage and disbelief. "What the fuck do you know about making choices?"
His entire body taut with anger. "All I'm seeing is a fucking coward."
"A coward?" His voice cracked as he repeated the word, his chest heaving with the force of her emotions.
"Yes, Hikaru Hitachi." Her voice dripped with bitterness, His full name thrown at him like an insult.
"I'm sorry I didn't want to ruin your precious public reputation—"
"Oh, here you go again!" she interrupted, her voice ice-cold, cutting through his words like a whip. She took a step closer, her hands shaking at her sides.
"You know exactly what they'd do if we went public," he fired back, his voice low and taut, each word laced with tension. His eyes narrowed as her gaze bore into him, daring him to look away.
She laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and raw. "You're so full of shit, Hikaru. Always hiding behind excuses. You think I give a damn about what 'they' would do?"
"You should," he shot back, his voice rising, his composure cracking. "You're like a walking scandal, Olivia. Can you even imagine what would happen if I stepped out publicly as your boyfriend?"
Her chest tightened, and for a moment, the pain in his voice made her falter. But the anger surged back just as quickly, burning through her.
"This isn't about my career or my image," she hissed, her voice low but vibrating with rage. Her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she stepped even closer, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
"Fuck my career, Fuck my image, Fuck my reputation—and all the other bullshit excuses you keep pulling out of your sleeve!" Her voice rose, shaking with the sheer force of her emotions. Tears streamed down her cheeks now, hot and unchecked, but she didn't care. The dam had burst, and she was drowning in the flood of everything she'd kept bottled up.
"Do you have any idea what it felt like?" Her voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush, raw and jagged.
"Watching you choose your family over and over again? Watching you keep me hidden like I was one of your suits in the back of your closet?"
"I never—"
"Don't you dare!" She cut him off, her voice breaking. Her hands shook as she gestured wildly, her tears falling faster now. "I didn't let my Momma run me away from you. I picked you over everyone!"
Her knees felt weak, but she stayed on her feet, the anger the only thing keeping her upright. "And you just threw it all away because you couldn't stand up to your stupid fucking family!"
His face twisted, his mask completely gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. "You think this was easy for me?" he snapped, his voice rough. "You think I didn't want to stand up for you?"
"Then why didn't you?" The words tore out of her, broken and anguished. "Does your mom control you that much? Was your family that convincing?"
The silence that followed was deafening, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. She covered her face with her hands, her body shaking as the sobs overtook her. The pain of the past year, of everything she'd lost, hit her all at once, and she felt like she was suffocating under the weight of it.
"I wasn't ashamed of you," he said finally, his voice low, almost a whisper.
"Then what the fuck was it?" she demanded, her voice muffled by her hands.
Hikaru ran a hand through his hair, his face etched with frustration and pain. "I can't just tell you everything. Okay? I can't just open myself up and just tell you everything."
"And that's another problem right there." She tried to breathe but it felt stuck. "You can't even be honest with me—"
"You're right— I can't."
She froze, his words hanging in the air, fragile and heavy. When she finally lowered her hands, her eyes met his, wide and searching.
"You just…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "You just broke my heart, and I'm still trying to pick up the pieces."
His expression shattered, his shoulders slumping as he took a step toward her.
"Maybe this is the most honest you'll ever be with me." she held up a hand, stopping him. "Don't. Fucking… touch me."
Her chest heaved as she sucked in a shaky breath, wiping at her tear-streaked face. The space between them felt insurmountable, a chasm carved out by months of pain and regret.
She exhaled shakily, her arms falling limply to her sides. Her gaze flickered down to the floor as though looking directly at him would make the words even harder to say.
"Right… But I should be grateful huh?..." Her voice was quiet, but the tension behind it was unmistakable.
Her fingers twitched, curling and uncurling into her palms, searching for something to hold onto. She dragged in another breath, steadying herself.
"You were honest with me last year… Right?" The words came out slower now, deliberate, like each syllable was a jagged stone she had to force out of her throat.
She glanced up at him briefly, just long enough to see the way his hands fisted at his sides. But she pressed on, needing to get it all out.
"I'm Black," she said bluntly, the sharp edges of the statement slicing through the air between them. Her voice faltered, but she didn't stop.
"Your family doesn't like me because I'm Black." Her chest felt tight, as if all the air in the room had been sucked out, but she didn't let herself pause. She rubbed at her arms absently, the gesture more to soothe herself than anything else.
"You can't date me and be serious or seen with someone like me." Her throat burned as the words echoed in her head, each one leaving a bitter taste behind. Someone like me. The phrase twisted her insides, shame and anger tangling together until she wasn't sure which one was worse.
"I mean… I get it," shaking her head as her eyes darted to the side, unable to meet his.
"You can't ruin your family's reputation… Right." The silence that followed her words felt suffocating. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to take the words back, but her lips kept moving, the truth spilling out before she could stop it.
"They want you with someone more your… caliber." She bit out the last word, her voice breaking slightly.
"Someone that looks like you. Understands your culture. Fits your perfect family image." Her vision blurred, tears pooling in her eyes as she forced herself to look at him again. His expression was unreadable, but she could feel his tension radiating across the space between them. Her mind flickering back to every look, every whispered word, every moment she'd questioned whether she was ever truly enough.
"And I'm not that," she finished softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her throat felt raw, as if the words had physically scraped their way out of her. She tried to steady her breathing, but the weight of it all was too much.
Her arms fell back to her sides, her hands trembling slightly as she curled them into fists. "I'm the complete opposite," she admitted, her gaze locking onto his at last.
"I'm just a poor girl from the projects, who came up from shaking my ass, selling sex, showing off my body." For a moment, she let him see the hurt she was trying so hard to hide.
"And you can't be with some low-class Whore right." The doubt and frustration that had been eating away at her for so long.
The silence stretched taut between them, vibrating with all the words they couldn't—or wouldn't—say. She felt his eyes on her, heavy and searing, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. Her hands trembled as they hung by her sides, her body swaying under the weight of everything that had been unleashed.
A sharp breath shuddered from her chest, and she turned away, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as if she could hold in the pieces threatening to spill out. Her shoulders shook, and the sound of her quiet sob was like a blade slicing through the charged air.
Behind her, Hikaru took a step forward, the soft thud of his shoe against the floor impossibly loud. She stiffened, her body tense as a bowstring, but she didn't move away. His presence loomed closer, the heat of him brushing against her back, the space between them shrinking into nothingness.
Her breath hitched as his hand reached out, fingers trembling before they rested lightly on her shoulder. She flinched, her body jerking at the contact, but he didn't pull back. Slowly, his hand slid down, his fingers grazing her arm in a touch so gentle it made her chest tighten painfully.
Her breathing grew ragged, shallow gasps punctuating the quiet, her face crumpling as she tried to hold herself together. His hand settled over hers, warm and firm, anchoring her even as she felt herself unraveling.
Her knees buckled, and before she could hit the floor, he caught her. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him as she sagged into his chest. She struggled for a moment, weakly pushing at his arms, but it was like fighting against gravity—futile and inevitable.
A broken sound tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained, as her fists balled against his shirt. She clung to him, her fingers twisting the fabric as her sobs wracked her body, shaking them both. He held her tighter, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, his chin resting on her crown as if to shield her from the storm raging within.
Her tears soaked through his shirt, the dampness spreading against his skin, but he didn't move. He didn't speak. He just held her, his own breath uneven, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrored her jagged cries.
His hand moved again, sliding up her spine in slow, deliberate strokes, the motion tender and unsteady.
She buried her face against his neck, her hot, tear-streaked skin pressed against his, her body melting into his embrace even as her mind screamed at her to pull away.
His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to his. His thumb brushed away the tears on her cheek, a gesture so achingly gentle it made her heart squeeze in her chest. His brow furrowed, his face etched with something raw and unguarded as he looked at her like she was something precious and broken, and it was his fault.
He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the too-small space between them. His eyes fluttered shut, and a trembling sigh escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her like he was afraid she might disappear.
The silence between them was thick, their breathing the only sound in the room. His arms were still wrapped around her, his hold firm but trembling, as if unsure whether to hold on tighter or let her go. She could feel his breath against her neck, warm and unsteady, and it sent a shiver racing down her spine.
Her pulse was a wild drumbeat in her chest, every nerve alive under his touch. Her fingers tightened where they clutched at his shirt, a silent plea for him to stay, to not pull away. She tilted her head slightly, exposing the delicate curve of her neck, her breath catching when his lips hovered there, so close she could feel the heat of them.
He didn't move at first, his hesitation unease. His hand slid up her back, tentative, the callouses on his fingertips brushing over her bare skin. She felt his chest rise and fall unevenly against her, and her own breath hitched, her emotions a tangled mess of longing, anger, and the fragile hope that had kept her going all this time.
When his lips finally touched her neck, it was so soft she almost thought she'd imagined it. A sharp gasp escaped her, her fingers loosening their grip on his shirt before tangling in the fabric again, pulling him closer. His lips moved, brushing against her skin with a restraint that felt like it was costing him everything. He lingered there, kissing her neck in slow, deliberate movements, as if testing the waters, waiting for her to push him away.
But she didn't.
Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, her nails curling into his shoulders. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to contain the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. A tear slipped free, rolling down her cheek.
The hesitation in his movements faltered, giving way to something deeper, more urgent. His lips trailed upward, grazing along the curve of her jaw, his breath hot and uneven against her skin. She felt the tension in his body shift, the careful restraint breaking, replaced by a need that matched her own.
When his lips finally found her cheek, the kiss was trembling, almost reverent. His hand moved to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing away a stray tear as he tilted her face toward his. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and the raw emotion she saw there unraveled what was left of her defenses.
Her lips parted, and he hesitated for just a moment longer, his breath mingling with hers. Then the dam broke.
His mouth claimed hers with a fervor that made her gasp, the kiss rough and hungry, yet achingly tender. She melted into him, her hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as the heat of their connection burned away the space between them.
Her mind was a blur, her body on fire as she kissed him back with all the anger, the longing, the love she had tried so hard to bury. His lips moved against hers in a chaotic rhythm, desperate and unrestrained, as if trying to pour every unspoken word, every apology, every regret into that single moment.
His hand slid from her jaw to tangle in her hair, his fingers tightening just enough to make her gasp into his mouth. She felt his other hand press against her back, holding her firmly against him, as if he could physically keep her from slipping away.
"I'm sorry," He whispered against her lips, her voice breaking.
"I'm sorry," he echoed, his voice a low rasp, full of the same desperation that mirrored her own.
Their lips collided once more, a fiery union drenched in both passion and despair. The intoxicating blend of salt from her tears and his natural musk ignited an inferno within them as their tongues danced fervently. Each caress of their mouths fueled a ravenous hunger for closeness that seemed insatiable. His hands shook violently while exploring her curves; reverberations of ecstasy pulsed through him with every touch.
Her fingers clung to him like vines - intertwined in his hair one moment before tracing down his toned physique the next. This frenzied exchange served as a bittersweet reminder of reality – they were together now but unsure how long it would last. Fear melded with lust created an exquisite cocktail coursing through their veins, heightening each sensation tenfold.
As they consumed one another wholeheartedly in this furious kiss, primal instincts took hold and all thoughts subsided except for those focused on savoring this precious connection before it potentially slipped away forever. In this stolen moment brimming with unbridled emotion and raw attraction, they allowed themselves to indulge fully in their scorching desire for one another without reservation or apology.
The words spilled from both of them in between kisses, their voices raw and breathless. "I missed you." "I missed you."
Each kiss was a plea, a demand, a promise that neither of them dared to put into words. The world around them ceased to exist, leaving only the heat of their bodies, the sound of their ragged breathing, and the shared heartbeat that pulsed in the space between them.
They stood there, locked in an intense embrace that threatened to erupt into something far more forbidden than a simple kiss. Then came the knock at the door, shattering the fragile bubble they had created around themselves. Slowly, they pulled away from each other, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath just as much as she did.
His eyes searched hers, burning with an intensity that made her shiver from head to toe. She couldn't help but wonder if this really was it - if this moment would be their last or if there was still hope for them after all. He reluctantly straightened his tie and smoothed down his jacket before responding,
"Come in." The door opened slowly, revealing Eijihama's imposing form filling up the space. His eyes flickered between them before settling on her, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"The host is looking for you," he said simply, not missing a beat. She swallowed hard and nodded, struggling to find her footing in reality once again. She forced herself to tear away from his grip, feeling like she was being torn in half by an invisible force. As she turned to leave, she couldn't help but glance back at him one last time. The look on his face haunted her – part regret, part longing – as she walked away without another word.