How… did it come to this?

I was always certain of who I was. Cold. Logical. Independent. A person who relied on no one and expected nothing in return. That was the foundation of my existence—the way I had always lived. A life dictated by merit, by discipline, by the unwavering belief that emotions were nothing more than obstacles.

This warmth…

It terrifies me.

The person I used to be wouldn't have allowed this. She wouldn't have let her heart race at someone's touch, wouldn't have surrendered to the shivers running down her spine. She wouldn't have needed someone.

But right now… I do.

The air is thick, my thoughts sluggish, my body betraying me—moving on its own as if answering a call I don't understand. My fingers tremble, my breath catches, and every moment spent in his arms feels like another step away from the person I once was.

The cold world I built for myself is gone.

I see it now.

For so long, I convinced myself that my current situation was nothing more than a game, a meaningless detour in the grand scheme of my life. People were pieces to be maneuvered, emotions were distractions, and forming bonds… was nothing but a weakness. If I stayed strong, if I remained untouchable, then no one could hurt me.

But… I was wrong.

What if I was never truly strong to begin with?

Because at this moment, I feel vulnerable. Desperately, helplessly weak in the face of something I can't rationalize. This warmth—this connection—has stripped me of everything I used to believe in.

And the scariest part?

I don't hate it.

Somewhere along the way, the person I used to be faded into the background, and in her place stood someone else before they melted into one. A girl who isn't afraid to feel. A girl who doesn't see the world as a battlefield but as something normal… softer. Warmer.

I never thought I would be this kind of person.

Never thought I would be the kind of girl who melts under someone's touch, who yearns for it, who craves something beyond logic and reason. Never thought I would abandon my original goal—the very purpose that defined my existence—just to be with this person.

My studies, my ambitions… they're no longer the center of my world.

For the first time, something else takes precedence. Someone else.

And yet…

With him, I don't mind losing myself.

Because despite everything bad that has happened…

I love him.

ㅤ

ㅤ

ㅤ

The soft glow of the dorm kitchen lights cast gentle shadows as I tightened the strings of my apron, adjusting it properly. Across from me, Ayanokouji stood just as prepared, ready for battle.

In front of us, neatly arranged, were all the ingredients—already measured and prepared, thanks to him.

"Alright," he said, examining the recipe sheet in his hand. "What are we making?"

I folded my arms, glancing at the instructions. "Dorayaki."

He looked at me. "...Because they're easy, or because they're sweet?"

I didn't have to answer that.

"...Because they're a classic," I said, feigning nonchalance as I reached for a mixing bowl.

Ayanokouji glanced at the ingredients laid out in front of us before turning to me.

"Would you rather try making something else?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He gestured at the ingredients. "We have everything needed for dorayaki, but with the same ingredients, we could also make something like taiyaki or imagawayaki."

I felt a small twinge of annoyance. "Dorayaki is fine. Is there something wrong with them?"

He shook his head. "No, everything's fine. I was just curious since you decided on them so suddenly."

I let out a small sigh, trying to hide my slight embarrassment. "I saw them at the supermarket recently and thought I could make better ones myself."

"Ambitious."

"Just start mixing."

He didn't argue, but I could tell from the way he lingered on my words that he was amused.

Ayanokouji grabbed the bag of flour—and the moment he did, disaster struck.

Pfwah!

A fine white cloud burst into the air, coating his face, hair, and apron in a layer of flour.

I stared.

Ayanokouji, usually unreadable and unfazed by everything, stood still, blinking through the mess. He looked like a ghost.

I clamped a hand over my mouth.

And then—

I snorted.

The snort turned into laughter. I tried to stop it—I really did—but the sight of him like this was too much.

His eyes flicked toward me, blank as always, but the sheer contrast between his usual demeanor and his current state only made it worse.

I doubled over, gripping the counter for support. "Pfft—Y-You look—!"

"Like someone who just got sabotaged?"

That only made me laugh harder.

Still eerily calm, he wiped his sleeve across his face, but all it did was smear the flour even more.

I lost it.

It took me a full minute to regain control, wiping the corners of my eyes. "Pfft—okay, okay."

Ayanokouji, meanwhile, simply resumed mixing as if nothing had happened, flour still clinging to his face.

"...You're not even gonna say anything?" I asked, still catching my breath.

"I don't see the point."

I stared at him for a long moment, before shaking my head with a small, amused smile.

This might not have been what I expected when I asked him to bake with me, but... I wasn't complaining.

"It's not even winter yet, and you're already playing snowman?"

He paused for half a second before resuming his stirring. "...That wasn't intentional."

"Oh, really? You sure you weren't just trying to add some extra 'flour' to your face?" I said, reaching for the sugar.

Ayanokouji, without missing a beat, replied, "That would imply I planned to get hit in the first place."

"Hmm, so you're saying it was just incompetence?" I mused, cracking an egg into the bowl.

"An unfortunate accident," he corrected.

I smirked, "I see. Then I suppose this will be a true test of whether you can make up for your mistakes."

I walked over to the sink to wash my hands, the warm water running over my fingers. With a sideways glance at Ayanokouji, who was wiping the flour off his face, I decided to get one last critical hit at him.

"You know," I said, flicking off the tap, "for someone who always acts so composed, you sure looked helpless back there. I never thought I'd see the day you got defeated by flour."

I turned back toward the counter, only to freeze when something cold and firm suddenly wrapped around my wrists.

He had caught my hands.

Before I could react, he pulled me forward in one smooth motion, closing the space between us.

"W-Wait!"

His usual monotone voice dropped an octave, carrying a weight I wasn't prepared for.

"Don't you think you're being a little too smug today, Horikita?"

I barely had time to register the words before I felt his hands leave my wrists—only to grab my waist instead.

"Wha—?! H-Hey—!"

Without warning, my feet left the ground.

A sudden weightlessness filled my stomach as he effortlessly lifted me up, holding me high above the floor.

I panicked. "W-Wait! W-What do you think you're doing?!"

My voice came out weaker than I would've liked, but in my defense, it was hard to sound composed when being held hostage in midair.

Ayanokouji stared up at me, unimpressed. "What do you think, Horikita?"

My hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, my mind scrambling for answers.

"Y-You—!"

"I could walk you straight to the door and leave you outside," he mused casually, shifting his grip slightly. "You'd be stuck out there without a way back in."

I stiffened. "Y-You wouldn't—"

He tilted his head slightly, his grip on my waist steady, still holding me in the air. "And why wouldn't I?"

I swallowed. "B-Because—"

"Not only have you been teasing me over a minor mistake, but you're also starting to feel a little too confident, aren't you?"

I tensed, suddenly feeling very exposed despite my feet not even touching the ground.

"You act like I came here just to fulfill your whims," he continued, his voice still maddeningly calm. "Not only that, but I'm also helping you—someone who, if I recall correctly, has a habit of turning the kitchen into a disaster zone."

I scowled. "T-That's—!"

"Not true?" He raised an eyebrow.

I felt my face heat up.

His grip shifted slightly as if to remind me of my predicament.

"So really, wouldn't it make more sense for you to be learning a lesson in proper behavior?"

I d-didn't like where this was going.

"Let's consider the scenario," He continued smoothly as if he were solving a math problem. "If I were to carry you to the door right now and leave you outside, what would happen?"

My movement froze as I ran through possibilities.

"You'd be stuck there," he answered his own question, tone matter-of-fact. "Without a keycard. Without shoes, probably. And definitely without a way back in."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

"You wouldn't even be able to tell anyone."

I twitched. "W-Why not?"

"Because reporting me would not only mean admitting you got thrown out of your own room but would also hurt me. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

I gaped at him.

Ayanokouji didn't stop there. "Your options would be limited," he continued, his voice maddeningly calm. "You could either wait for someone to find you—risking the embarrassment of being caught standing outside your own room—or swallow your pride and ask the dorm reception for help."

I narrowed my eyes. "I-I wouldn't do that."

He tilted his head. "No?"

Crossing my arms defiantly, I huffed. "I know you're bluffing."

For a moment, he said nothing.

He adjusted me.

Then, without a single word, he started walking.

Toward the door.

"W-Wait—!"

Panic surged through me as I squirmed in his grip, but his hold remained firm. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as he closed the distance to the entrance, his steps slow and deliberate, giving me just enough time to process what was happening.

"Okay—okay! I-I get it! S-Stop!"

He didn't.

My hand shot out toward his shoulder, my voice turning desperate. "I-I'm sorry!"

He reached for the door handle.

"A-Ayanokouji—"

"I won't do it again!" I blurted out, my words tripping over themselves in my panic. "I-I swear. I-I won't tease you anymore, so—so don't leave me out there!"

My breathing was uneven, my face burning with humiliation as I pleaded with him.

He stopped.

For a brief moment, I thought I was safe—that he'd finally let me go.

But instead of releasing me, he did the opposite.

I barely had time to react before he pulled me in, pressing me against him with a grip that left no room for escape.

My breath hitched.

"You're being selfish, don't you think?" His voice was darker as he pressed me against him, "You never even asked me what I wanted to bake. You made the decision for me."

"I—"

"And now," he went on, tone low and inescapable, "you throw around apologies so easily, expecting them to solve everything. But isn't that just hypocrisy?"

I sucked in a breath, my protests dying in my throat.

"You're only thinking about your own happiness right now, Horikita." He leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming.

My thoughts scrambled for a counterargument—some way to prove him wrong—but suddenly, I wasn't sure anymore.

Was I…?

Had I really just been treating him like that?

No—I wasn't that selfish, w-was I?

But the more I tried to reason through it, the more tangled my thoughts became. Logic slipped through my fingers, turning into a chaotic mess of doubt.

Maybe I had been taking him for granted. Maybe I hadn't been considering his feelings at all.

I shook my head sharply, trying to push the thoughts away. "Y-You're wrong..."

But my voice wavered.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "I-If you want, we can bake something else instead..." My voice barely came out steady, a slight tremble betraying me. "I-I'm sorry… if I hurt your feelings."

He remained silent for a moment. The air between us was suffocating, his presence inescapable. Then, slowly, he said.

"Apologies aren't enough, Horikita." His grip on me didn't loosen. If anything, it only grew firmer. "If you truly regret it, then you should act on it."

I tensed. "W-What…?"

"Saying 'sorry' means nothing if you can't prove it." His voice was steady, unshaken, and completely unreadable. "Words are easy. But actions?" He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting against my ear. "That's where true sincerity lies."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked onto mine. "I might not feel love, but that doesn't mean I'm fine with how you've treated me."

Was he… Was he right?

I had just assumed—assumed that he was fine with going along with me, assumed that he didn't mind. But if he truly didn't feel emotions like other people, wouldn't that mean he'd been enduring it in silence?

Guilt curled in my stomach.

I lowered my gaze shamefully, my confidence wavering beneath his words.

I promised him, didn't I?

I promised I would stay.

But even if I kept that promise, did that mean I could ignore the consequences of my actions?

The realization settled heavily in my chest.

I had been selfish.

Not just today—but maybe all this time.

I'd taken everything for granted. My happiness, my days filled with stability, the presence of someone who never wavered. And yet, despite all of that, I had been so blind.

My ignorance—my stupidity—had made me oblivious to the feelings of the one person who had always been by my side.

I really was ungrateful.

This world wasn't the same game where I could do as I pleased without repercussions. Every decision I made had consequences, whether I acknowledged them or not.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my breathing shallow.

How… How could I ever make it up to him?

My mind scrambled for an answer, but nothing felt like enough.

I had no way to repay him. No way to express my sincerity.

No way—

I froze.

He was still pressed against me, the warmth radiating from his body, of how his grip hadn't loosened even slightly.

My own body felt hot—burning, almost.

I swallowed thickly, my thoughts twisting, spiraling—

W-Would that… be enough?

I bit my lip, my heart pounding so loudly I feared he could feel it. My body felt unbearably warm, every inch of me hyperaware of the way he was still holding me.

I struggled to find my voice, to say something, anything, but all that escaped was a shallow breath. My throat felt tight, my pulse erratic.

I wasn't thinking straight.

I knew that.

But the heat pooling in my chest, the way his gaze stayed locked onto mine, unwavering, unreadable—it made rational thought impossible.

My lips parted, barely above a whisper.

"I-If you want..." I forced the words out, my voice trembling.

"Then… a-am I… enough?"

I met his eyes, my face glowing.

It wasn't fair.

He wasn't doing anything—and yet, he was making it impossible for me to think clearly.

I felt trapped in his presence, in the suffocating silence that followed.

Would he answer?

Would he—?

His gaze didn't waver. Not even for a second.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, and just when I thought my heart couldn't pound any harder—

"You're a pervert, Horikita."

"W-Wha—!?"

His voice sent a shiver down my spine.

"Inviting a boy into your room so many times… and then saying something so indecent." His dark eyes never leave mine.

My mouth opened, but before I could even process a response—

His lips meet mine.

A sharp gasp slipped past me, swallowed instantly as he deepened the kiss without hesitation. My entire body tensed—then melted.

I didn't have time to think, didn't have time to catch my breath, because he didn't let me. His grip on me never loosened, his body pressing closer, firm and unyielding until I had no space left to retreat.

"Mmh…!"

It w-wasn't fair—he wasn't even giving me a chance to breathe.

His hand slid up my back, fingers tangling in my hair as he angled my head, taking even more control, and deepening the kiss in a way that left me lightheaded.

"nnnh…!?" I clung to his shirt, my legs feeling weak beneath me.

His lips moved against mine with an unshaken ease, never hesitating, never faltering. Every time I tried to pull back even slightly, he followed, stealing my breath, and pushing me further under his control.

That's when his fingers brushed the strap of my apron.

W-wait—

I barely had time to react before he slipped it off my shoulders, letting the fabric fall away.

A sudden panic flared in my chest, a flustered heat crawled up my neck as I realized what he had just done.

He didn't stop.

His mouth was still on mine, stealing every bit of resistance I had left, while my hands instinctively shot up, gripping his shirt as if to ground myself.

A soft, muffled whimper escaped me before I could stop it, my mind growing hazy under the weight of his touch.

I… I was letting this happen.

I deserved this, didn't I?

My chest heaved as he finally pulled back, giving me just a second to catch my breath. My mind was a mess, spinning out of control, trying to grasp onto something—anything—to ground myself.

Then his voice cut through the haze.

"You said you love me, didn't you, Horikita?"

I shook.

His words sent a sharp jolt through my body, my breath catching in my throat. My head was still spinning, my lips tingling from the lingering heat of his kiss.

I couldn't think—I couldn't—

"T-T-That's… I…" My voice wavered, the stutter betraying me.

His grip on me didn't ease. If anything, it grew firmer. And then—

His hands moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

Slipping beneath my shirt.

"Ah…!" A strangled gasp broke from my lips, my body tensing at the sudden warmth of his touch against my bare skin.

Too much. This was too much—

I barely had time to process it before I felt it—

The slow, deliberate tug.

The fabric slid up, inch by inch, exposing more of my skin to the open air.

It took me a second too long to realize what was happening.

"W-Wait—!"

I couldn't stop it. My shirt was gone before the words even left my lips.

Cold air kissed my skin, a stark contrast to the unbearable heat flooding my body. My arms twitched, instinctively moving to cover myself, but his voice cut through the moment, sending a fresh wave of embarrassment crashing over me.

"Dark?"

I blinked up at him, barely able to comprehend what he had just said until I followed his gaze.

I burned.

"T-Today I… I just…!" The words came out broken, scrambled, useless.

I wanted to disappear.

But before I could even react—

He moved.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips as my feet suddenly left the ground. My body lurched, my arms shooting out in panic, grabbing onto the only thing within reach—

His shoulders.

His arms wrapped securely around me, holding me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all.

He… He was carrying me.

A princess carry.

My head spun, my thoughts tangled and incoherent.

What was happening?

Why was he—?

My fingers tightened their grip around his neck. His face was right there, too close while my own burned hotter than I thought possible.

I couldn't think anymore.

Everything—everything was clouded.

"I asked you something earlier, didn't I?"

His voice cut through the haze.

My breath was shaky. I knew what he meant—I knew exactly what he was waiting for me to say. My heart pounded so hard it hurt, my fingers curling against his shoulders as I tried to steady myself.

"I… I d-do," the words tumbled out, "I love you, so p-please…"

I didn't even know what I was asking for.

But he seemed to understand.

His lips brushed against mine, softer this time—patient, almost gentle, yet still sending a shudder down my spine.

Before I knew it, I felt the softness of the bed beneath me.

I barely had time to process before warmth ghosted over my skin, the slightest touch sending shivers up my spine. His fingertips traced over me, slow, deliberate, as if committing every inch of me to memory.

A quiet click.

"H-haah."

My breath came in shallow gasps.

A second later, a new kind of weightlessness settled over me—a sudden lack of pressure, a loosening that sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up my skin.

I barely had time to react before warmth followed, soft lips pressing against a p-place that made my entire body jolt.

S-such thing.

"Ah—!" A sound escaped me, unbidden, shameful.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands trembling as they curled into the sheets beneath me. My breath came in short, uneven gasps, my chest rising and falling as the sensation sent a pulse of heat through me.

His lips lingered, slow, unrushed, as if savoring every moment, every reaction. My body arched instinctively, chasing after something I didn't dare name, and my fingers twitched, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

"Mmh…!" Another whimper slipped past, my thoughts dissolving, unraveling under his touch.

A heavy warmth pooled deep in my stomach, spreading through me like a slow-burning fire.

I couldn't think—my mind was a mess, tangled in heat and sensation, in the overwhelming presence of him.

Without realizing it, my fingers threaded into his hair, trembling as they traced through the soft strands. The warmth of his breath, the way he moved against me—it was all too much. And yet, not enough.

I wanted—

No, I needed—

Before hesitation could creep in, I tugged him upward, my lips crashing against his in a desperate, feverish kiss.

He barely reacted at first, as if surprised.

A quiet, satisfied hum rumbled against my lips as he pressed back, his body molding against mine, his hands tightening their grip on my waist.

S-So good.

His lips moved against mine in a way that sent a deep, shivering ache through me, his touch slow but deliberate, guiding me deeper into the haze.

I clung to him, half-naked with heat curling in my chest, my fingers tightening in his hair as I chased after him—after more.

I didn't care about shame anymore.

I just wanted him closer.

The kiss left me lightheaded, my body melting against his as heat pulsed beneath my skin, slow and insistent.

His warmth surrounded me, his presence all-encompassing, and I barely registered the way his hands shifted—how he moved slightly, how something felt different.

"Take it off."

"H-huh?"

My already foggy mind struggled to process his words. My fingers twitched where they rested against him, my thoughts tangled, muddled by the lingering heat.

"I…" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the fabric between us as if it would steady me. "Y-You… w-want me to…?"

His gaze didn't waver.

"I want you to do it."

I trembled.

The air felt too thick, too charged, pressing down on my skin in a way that made it impossible to think straight. My heart pounded, my breaths uneven as my hands trembled against him.

What was I supposed to do?

The words echoed in my mind, looping in an endless haze, but my body moved before I could fully grasp them.

I didn't know if it was the way he was looking at me—intense, dark, yet somehow steadying—or the way his lips brushed against mine again, pulling me back into the warmth, into the slow unraveling that made it impossible to resist.

But my fingers…

They moved.

A shaky breath escaped me as I felt the fabric shift beneath my own touch. My mind screamed at me to stop—to think—but the sensation of his lips, deepening against mine, stealing the last remnants of my control, drowned everything else out.

I barely noticed the way my fingers hesitated, the way my breath stuttered as I pulled—inch by inch—until the weight of my skirt and panties slipped lower, loosening, baring more of my heated skin to the cool air.

A quiet gasp left me at the sudden contrast, and I tensed, half a second from covering myself, from pulling away—

Until his hands were there.

Firm, steady, he lifted me a little, settling on my waist like an anchor, like reassurance, as he saw me—like I was an art worth looking at.

My chest tightened.

He thought I was…

"Beautiful."

A-ah.

I never thought…

Not once had I imagined myself in a moment like this—bared before someone else, showing this side of myself to a boy.

Not just anyone. Him.

The thought alone sent a new rush of heat through me, burning away the last remnants of hesitation.

I barely know him.

It hasn't been that long.

Shouldn't I—?

The words never fully formed.

Because right now… none of it mattered.

Not the time. Not the logic. Not the cold, distant walls I'd built around myself for so many years.

Nothing compared to the warmth.

I'm glad.

I'm glad I got these 'memories'.

I'm so happy.

The warmth of his hands grounded me. The warmth of his breath against my skin. The warmth spread through me, dissolving every last bit of that icy fog I had once wrapped myself in.

For as long as I could remember, I had been alone in the cold—standing at a distance, watching as warmth existed outside of me, never something I could reach, never something I thought I deserved.

But now—

Now, I was here.

I was inside it.

Wrapped in it. Drowning in it.

And for this to last to the end of time…

I don't want to step away.

I don't want to go back to the cold.

I want to stay forever.

My fingers twitched, hesitated—then reached forward, gripping onto him, holding on as if anchoring myself in this moment, in this warmth, before it could slip away.

Before I could wake up and realize it had only been another dream.

He shifted slightly, and I shuddered, my breath hitching as my senses overwhelmed me again.

His gaze didn't waver.

And when he whispered that single word—low, almost reverent—

Beautiful.

Something inside me shattered.

I had spent my whole life believing I was only supposed to be strong or smart or cold.

Never once had I thought of myself as this.

Never once had I thought that someone else—he—would see me this way.

A trembling breath escaped me, my fingers curling tighter around him, my body pressing forward, desperate for more of that warmth, desperate to chase away every last trace of the cold I had once known.

I don't care.

Not about hesitation.

Not about logic.

Not about anything except this moment.

Except him.

And the warmth we shared.

.

.

.

ㅤ

ㅤ

ㅤ

The world was warm.

Soft.

A gentle haze clung to the edges of my mind, wrapping around my senses like a lingering dream, refusing to let go.

I shifted slightly, the weight of sleep still heavy in my limbs. The warmth beside me had faded, replaced by the faint chill of empty space. It made my brows furrow, a small frown tugging at my lips as I reached out instinctively—only to grasp at nothing but air.

Then—

Riiing. Riiing.

The sharp sound cut through the quiet, startling me from the last remnants of drowsiness. I blinked, my vision still blurred at the edges and forced myself to focus.

The room was dim, the soft glow of night filtering in from behind the curtains. It was still evening. Or maybe night. The details felt distant and unimportant.

What mattered was the figure standing near my bedside, illuminated faintly by the glow of my phone screen.

"…who?" My voice came out groggy, the weight of sleep still pressing down on me.

He didn't turn immediately. Instead, he stood there, gaze fixed on the device in his hand, the steady ring echoing through the stillness.

Finally, he glanced at me.

"Your phone is ringing."

That much was obvious. I blinked again, sluggish, forcing myself upright as I tried to clear my thoughts.

"Who is it?"

He glanced at the screen, then back at me.

"Unknown number."

Something about the way he said it sent a faint prickle down my spine, but my mind was still too dazed, too slow to grasp why.

I rubbed at my eyes, exhaling softly.

"…Pass it here."

And so, the moment lingered. The phone kept ringing. And in the dim glow of the night, I wondered—somewhere in the back of my hazy mind—if I was still dreaming.

The phone was cool against my ear.

I barely had the energy to hold it properly, my fingers loose, my mind still swimming in the remnants of sleep.

"…Hello?" My voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.

And then—

"Suzune."

Everything stopped.

The warmth I had been wrapped in—the lingering traces of heat against my skin, the gentle haze of comfort that still clung to my senses—vanished.

In its place, a sharp, biting cold spread through my veins.

My grip on the phone tightened.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe.

The voice on the other end was unmistakable.

Cold.

Sharp.

Familiar.

"Where are you right now?"

The demand came quiet, even. And yet, there was no mistaking it.

Not a question.

A command.

I swallowed. My throat was dry.

And just like that, the air in my lungs turned to ice.

"…N-Nii-san?"