Chapter 2

Haven't you heard the rumours?

I'm fucking insane.

He couldn't get it out of his head. Perhaps she really was insane. Of all the rumours that swirled around – the woman was a ticking time bomb of going unhinged if she hadn't already because of her genetics. It was no secret to the upper class. And the worst part was that she embodied every bit of it with absolute pride.

He could hear the Twins snickering again at the prospect of him having to marry the crazy girl. The Hibayashis would not give up the company without having the daughter be a part of the deal. Their last shot of rising from the ashes of the crippled and insane family. It was an attempt at redeeming their honour, anyone could see it. And of course, the youngest Ootori was the pawn to sacrifice for the sake of the business.

But clearly the woman wouldn't go down without a fight. Perhaps, they could work out a deal. No marriage involved – as if either of them wanted any of it. His first approach was shot down within minutes. She was not someone who could be reasoned with apparently. She was, as what she claimed, to be insane.

He weighed his options. She was a key player in his goal of attaining the Ootori group. Marriage was a fickle thing and divorce was not uncommon these days. They could draw up a contract of sorts – a business-only relationship. But that was only if she was willing – business was a two-way street, after all. It was only a matter of finding what was worthwhile to her as a bargaining chip. Her art gallery? He scoffed. What could all those stupid paintings be worth? Not nearly enough what he made.

Kyouya contemplated trying to take down the business from the inside-out. Use their competitors against them to somehow cripple them to the point where the Ootoris would have to bail them out as their only option. The girl would have been the least of the Hibyashi clan's problems by then. It was near impossible given their market share – even with all their competitors working together, the Hibayashi clan had a sizeable amount of hospitals to still survive considering how psychiatric care was already so hush-hush, the family did the unglamorous dirty work of society of rehabilitating the mentally ill. It was a profitable quiet business. One that no one wanted to speak of, not in their culture anyway.

She was in his way. An obstacle. It proved to be a difficult task to remove her and it bothered him.

Flowers on a Monday. Kiyoko raised an eyebrow at the delivery man. A bouquet of orange lilies with dainty little baby's breath that adorned the small spaces in between. Her manicured fingers politely took the vase from the delivery man and kindly showed him the exit. Her high heels clacked across the hardwood floor in the gallery to walk over to Nami's desk, as per what the card was addressed to.

Her employee's eyes lit up in surprise. "Oh! How sweet," she gushed at the sight. A grin danced on her lips as she giggled. The boss only stood in front of her employee, unimpressed by the gesture at all.

Kiyoko pursed her lips. "Hm," she mumbled as she handed off the flowers to the girl and stepped aside, watching the genuine delight of the receiver. Nami was obviously enamoured by the man who did the bare minimum. She bit her tongue, refusing to get involved with these matters. It was none of her business, she thought to herself.

Nami took a photo and immediately sent it off to the man who had been responsible for the surprise. Kiyoko looked away, trying her best not to roll her eyes at it all. She wondered what the man had done wrong this time, or if he was apologizing for something. Flowers were not generally sent by rich men out of the blue without reason. Kiyoko kept a straight face and diverted her employee's attention to business.

"Did we make a sale on that Darcy piece?" she cleared her throat. Kiyoko had been wondering about that – given that the piece had taken over three months to sell. It was from a foreign artist, one that Kiyoko took a chance on. It was a slow start but it turned into a bidding war when it was made an exclusive right for her gallery to sell the pieces of the artist. It was even more sought-after when it was featured on social media.

Nami looked up from her phone and snapped out of her daze. "Uh," she blinked. "Yes. Yes, the funds were received this morning."

"Good," Kiyoko nodded. "Any other offers?"

"Two on the paintings we just received," Nami responded promptly, pretending not to eye the flowers that adorned her desk now. The boss could tell by the way her eyes travelled every few seconds to the bright orange blossoms to the point where Kiyoko just sighed and told Nami to keep her posted.

Nami met the man as a client of the gallery. He had been coming every few months to see her. Maybe more than just a few months now that Kiyoko had thought about it. Kiyoko had to admit that he was surely a great customer of the place, incentivized by more ways than one. On one hand, there was Nami – the sweet art student turned assistant curator. She brought nothing but youthful naivete, perhaps a refreshing archetype that he hadn't come across in a long time. On the other, Kiyoko knew enough about the upper class that he was certainly married and buying pieces of art to appease his wife, or mistresses. One of the two. Kiyoko did not bother with the distinction.

Either way – Nami was receiving the short end of the stick. Kiyoko wondered if the girl would ever learn. She reminded herself once again, it was none of her business as she watched Nami smile over the stupid flowers that sat at the corner of her desk.

Kiyoko left work as she pleased – part of the perks of being a boss after all. She received an invitation to a creatives luncheon, the kind that only the rich elites were invited to because of their status quo. Between the likes of musicians, actors, writers, and artists – it was the sort of place you would go to for what most people considered fun. Socialites that enjoyed mingling with celebrities for the sake of just being able to say that they were acquaintances because they ran in similar circles.

Kiyoko hated these things. But she went because it was one of the only ways to sell art. You need a piece to spruce up your mansion, yacht, or new office? Approach me. You want to sell your art to me? Show me. You heard about trying to get access to one of the most exclusive galleries in the country? Convince me.

All she had to do was lurk in the shadows. Listening to who wants what. Humans were all the same in some form of another. They all craved clout, attention, or love. The little secrets whispered in the dark shadows were always picked up by Kiyoko somehow. But art – something about it was either a form of status to show everyone else or a private means of feeling heard when no other human (beyond the anonymous artist) could understand.

"I feel like he's not listening. Always on his phone. Smiling at it. Why isn't he smiling at me?"
"Well, he's probably doing business on his phone."
"No one smiles like that to their stupid phone for business."

Kiyoko moved onto another crowd, sipping on her glass of white wine. Her heels clacked amongst the quiet murmurs of the little cliques that had formed early on. She wandered around the hall, pretending to admire the art that hung on the wall. It wasn't all that nice, but it was something to look at. She wondered who designed this place.

"The new restaurant has me going mad. Do you know how hard it is to bring another restaurant to life? Like having a newborn baby."
"Can't you hire someone to take care of that stuff?"

Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. She stepped aside and moved towards another corner, hiding behind a marble pillar. Thankfully, it was silent. Her ears perked up only when she heard footsteps coming towards her area. She stood in her place, heels planted firmly against the marbled floor, her fingers carefully gripping her glass. She took a deep breath to prepare herself.

"Hibayashi-san," they greeted in a low voice. "How's my dear Nami-chan doing?" She could hear the smirk. She pictured it with a devilish grin, the kind that always screamed danger. Kiyoko rolled her eyes to the wall, making sure to keep her tone polite.

"She is well," she responded curtly before turning to face the real-estate magnate. No one seemed to accompany him today. She wondered if he left his wife somewhere behind, talking to other women about how her husband was just an absolute gem as he sent her (and other women) flowers this morning. It was a classic move – one that was sloppy, if he had wanted to keep it a secret. But then again, Kiyoko was in no position to meddle. She quietly kept these thoughts to herself.

"Did she receive my gift?" he flashed another smile at the gallerist, one that she could actually see with her own eyes as if trying to win her over. He leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets. The Armani suit he wore was perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and his hair gelled in such a way that only made Kiyoko sick inside.

"I wouldn't know," Kiyoko lied, dismissing the question immediately.
"I put in an offer for that painting," he mentioned offhandedly. "A gift," the man added.
"For whom?" she inquired. It was only right that she knew who he was shopping for so she could guide him accordingly. Kiyoko was ready to bet money that he would say a friend. But what he really meant was mistress. Or his new toy, she figured.

"A good friend," the man answered, exactly as she had expected. "They seem to have taken a liking to… the melancholic works."

Kiyoko nodded. "Any reason why?" She could guess a few reasons why. He preyed on the easy ones. The lost, the broken, the ones that felt alone the most. He appealed to those who needed him the most before he got bored and tossed them away when they grew too dependent on his emotional support. It was no fun when things got too serious. Who needed commitment when you had all the money to buy anything and anyone in the world?

"Oh," he shrugged nonchalantly. "You know," he told her, as if her eyes had known the same thing. Kiyoko seemed to carry that sort of aura with her. "Heartbreak. General loss of direction in life."
"All normal experiences in the walks of life," the woman wisely responded. "A shame," she murmured.
"A shame?" he repeated, his eyebrow raised.

"The painting you bid on," Kiyoko answered with the same sort of shrug, her eyes unreadable now. "It is not for you. It belongs to an owner who understands it – the heart of it, not the surface. Not for the dark tones that it is painted with, the shapes of the abyss of the blues – it is not made for the suffering but rather… the hopeful," she drawled on, not for him – but almost for herself. She had taken a liking to that painting after these months. She felt something different the more she looked at it. There was something so compelling about the way art could make someone feel.

"Not for me?" the man scoffed. "You won't get a better price for it, I assure you. It is not worth more than ten grand."
Kiyoko smiled. "I don't run my business on bargaining, Mitaka-san. Have a good day," she bowed slightly.
"You don't understand," he argued back. "You can't be stupid enough to turn down an offer like that – that's just poor business sense."

The woman did not turn around. She was fine burning that bridge – he wasn't even that rich anyway. He was a lying, cheating bastard. Kiyoko could afford not to do business with scoundrels like that. It may have been bad business sense, but at least Kiyoko could sleep well tonight knowing that the man was not allowed back in her gallery. She immediately texted her security guard to revoke access. For Nami's sake, the girl needed to learn, she thought to herself.

Kyouya watched as the woman appeared out of the shadows as he stayed in them. Her wavy long hair was clipped back at the crown of her head with a crystal pin, her long skirt trailed behind her as her slim legs peaked through the slit. A dark blazer sat atop her shoulders as she carried her black clutch. She looked as if she was dressed for a funeral. Her lips were painted a deep red just like the claws on her fingers. Kiyoko was someone who dressed like the rich and elite – she was not one to hide. She was one to be feared, and she knew it.

Kyouya had somehow finagled the luncheon invite from his sister who happened to have a brunch with her other friends. He stopped by during his limited lunch hour, watching the woman travel across the room silently as she eavesdropped. From corner to corner, she spent no more than a few minutes with each group. This was how she operated her business: by eavesdropping and deciding who was the most vulnerable to making the perfect sale. He scoffed. As if the woman was any better than anyone else here. She made little conversation with anyone – only those who approached her. No one received her business card. Only a couple of polite nods if they were lucky. She did not shake anyone's hand. She was certainly not anyone would consider friendly from afar. It constantly added to her mysterious aura. Earning an invite to the gallery was like achieving a special status in the club of the elite.

"Only those who truly understand art belong," he heard from a spectator.

His eyes wandered to her as she looked at the time on her phone and pulled out a pristine white card, leaving it on the counter discreetly. Kiyoko was running out of time anyway and she had other plans to get to. This was not the first time she had done this. Someone would pick it up. Someone interesting, she figured. She left as quickly as she had come in, as if no one had ever seen her. Her heels echoed down the hall while the Shadow King emerged to retrieve the small white card stock on the counter, now stained with red wine. He wondered if it was intentional.

K. Hibayashi.

No number. No contact info. Not even an address. He picked up the card and held it to the light, wondering if there was some kind of trick to it all. It was nothing but a plain white card. Why were people vying for this? It was a stupid piece of card stock. The Ootori rolled his eyes. This was a waste of time and a gimmick.

"Oh," a stranger recognized the plain white card in his fingers when they were going to grab a refill of their drink. The men were near the spread of tables with finger food, near the windows where Kyouya eyed the dark figure leaving the premises below, hailing down a cab and scurried off to wherever she went. A voice caught his attention. "Where did you get that?"

The Ootori raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Was she here? I heard she moves her gallery every few months to showcase different exhibitions," the stranger pointed at the card in the Ootori's hand. "The current one is in Ginza. The card grants you access to one exhibit if you catch it in time."

Kyouya stared at the blank card, still irritated at this stupid gimmick. It was clear that he had no interest in the world of art. He stood stiff as a board; his eyebrows furrowed at the rectangle.

"But it's blank," the Ootori pointed out, feeling like an actual idiot.

The kind stranger smiled, reminiscing on the time he had gone through something similar. "She changes them every time. Sometimes they glow in the dark. Sometimes you have to hold it up to the light. It's always some kind of trick. She keeps it fun," he explained. The man politely asked for the card to look at it himself. He too, was stumped. It was a blank card, stained with red wine from what he could tell.

"Maybe it's something new," he suggested, handing it back to the owner. "Her exhibitions have always been interesting. The riddles to find them are even more fun. It's an experience. It costs over a thousand to stay on the VIP guest list to these events that only happen every few months. If you don't want the card, I'll take it off you," the man offered.

The Ootori narrowed his eyes and immediately shoved it into his breast pocket, suddenly possessive. He huffed and left the event irritated – his lunch was over and he hardly got a chance to shove anything down his stomach. This was a stupid waste of time.

Exclusivity was what made the galleries she owned appealing. The more you were unable to get to something; the more people would want it. Simple psychology. The more people flocked to her galleries, the quicker she would pack it all up to go somewhere else before it became the talk of the town. It made people curious. Excited. Intrigued. Her job was difficult to juggle given all the moving pieces. Different locations, changing themes, a ton of logistics to consider and to plan. There were many variables to consider. Rich people got bored easily and there was never a moment for Kiyoko to stay complacent.

She constantly mauled over multiple spreadsheets – schedules, vendors, artists, schematics, guest lists… Kiyoko had meetings every day over something different. She ran across the city, often to do location scouting and working with contractors and designers for new shows. Nami took care of the present exhibitions while Kiyoko had to look ahead for further business ventures.

On a particularly long day, Kiyoko stepped foot into the studio during closing hours. The stint was coming to an end with only a few pieces left. A relatively successful run, in her opinion. Nami bowed at her boss who walked in without a word, moving straight into the hidden office in the back. Kiyoko had no patience to be asking Nami about the progress of their day. She would check the books later in the evening, perhaps after a quick meal.

There was a knock on her door.

"Not now, Nami," Kiyoko called out as she scrolled through the emails on her thin laptop. Her manicured nails tapped the keys that echoed throughout the room. She worked best in pure silence – no background noise of any kind.

"Um," the assistant stuttered. Nami was generally very compliant, always respecting her employer's wishes but not today. Kiyoko looked up from her laptop with sharp eyes, glaring at the employee in annoyance. "Sorry, you have a very persistent guest. He is inquiring about the Ofelia piece."

"Tell him to come back another day," Kiyoko gritted out – she was not in the mood to be dealing with clients. The gallerist was at her wit's end to have any patience left after a long day of dealing with shipment delays and talking to her contractor about all the changes to be made at their new location. It was a setback, a major inconvenience to the timeline she planned for.

Nami grimaced. "He's willing to pay 20 grand. That's twice the current bid and it would also put our month's end at an all-time high this year," she tried again.

"Do you think he deserves the piece?" Kiyoko rolled her eyes, still in the midst of composing an email. She did her best to multitask as Nami spoke. She re-read the draft in her head before Nami interrupted her thoughts again.
"I know it's one of your favourites," the assistant treaded carefully. "Maybe it is best for you to decide. He's still out there waiting for you. He's been waiting for the past half hour, actually."

"Who is he?" her boss interrogated.
"He says he's Kyouya Ootori."

Kiyoko stopped typing on her laptop and saved the email as a draft. Her ears perked up at the name, her curiosity piqued at the familiarity. She recalled their encounter at the basement speakeasy a few weeks prior. It seemed like the man hadn't been spooked enough by her. Did he need another scare? She wondered when he would get the message to leave her alone.

"How could someone like Kyouya Ootori gain access to our gallery?" she wondered out loud. The exhibition was nearing the end of its showing period. Most people had already come and gone. Those who showed up multiple times were generally the buyers of the pieces that stayed with them. It was time to wrap up, hence the running around the city that Kiyoko had to deal with all day.
"He had your card so I thought you gave it to him," Nami explained.
"And he found the location?" Kiyoko leaned back at her seat. The card was blank. He would have had to ask around and network with other socialites that happened to have access to this exhibition. There was no trick to it like the rest of the cards. She left one behind at the luncheon, assuming that someone would have asked another. There were a handful of current clienteles at that party. The work was cut out for him.

"He called first," Nami remembered. "Earlier today, actually." The man inquired about the gallery – wondering if the exhibition was still on. Nami answered of course, like her job required to.
"Our number is not posted anywhere," Kiyoko mused. "Not on the internet, anyway." The only way to get it was by word of mouth or to be on the VIP list. Kyouya was someone who did not speak to others without merit, and he certainly was not on their VIP list. The VIP list changed every quarter. Subscription was tailored by the type of client, some receiving invites, some do not depending on the show.
"Your name is on the property listing though," Nami answered for her. "It's on multiple listings across the city, actually. He must have followed that trail when he heard the exhibition was in Ginza."

Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. She had to be more careful next time then. Of course, she could not have expected any less of the Ootori. His entire personality screamed analytical. He appreciated rationale, data, and logic. He had no patience for the whimsical arts – the expressive emotion behind anything was illogical. He must have considered it a waste of time. Which really only meant he was here not to purchase art, but to speak with her. Kiyoko stood from her desk deciding that it was a rather valiant effort from the Ootori. She decided that he was at least worth a few minutes of her time.

Nami widened her eyes at her boss. "You're actually going to talk to him?"

Kiyoko smirked. "Well, he wants to pay 20 grand, doesn't he?" She was a businesswoman after all.

Nami trailed behind her boss as she always had. Kiyoko was never one for dramatics, but she certainly carried herself with elegance and poise at every moment, even while instilling fear in anyone for every chance she got. Nami generally handled the sales – especially as the art practically sold itself. There was no need to convince people to buy the art. If it was something they were drawn to - they would bid without needing any second thought. Kiyoko was more of an elusive character around the exhibit, showing up only when needed. And today, she was unexpectedly needed.

Her red-soled pumps echoed on the hardwood floor as her blazer sat atop her shoulders like a cape. Her diamond earrings dangled from her lobes, framing her face as her high bun only accentuated her long neck that was adorned by a dainty gold chain. Her high-waisted maroon skirt barely touched the ground, hugging her waist and accentuated her curves. She crossed her arms and faced the Ootori head on.

"Good evening," she greeted the stoic man before her. He was a whole head taller than her, but Kiyoko had him staring down at her with an astonished look in his eyes – just for a split second. Her voice was naturally in a lower register, and in this dark lighting her soft konbawa had him nearly flinching at how powerful she sounded, even with just the polite greeting.

"I heard my presence was requested," Kiyoko continued when the Ootori did not greet her back. He only stared. The gallerist knew he was trying to read her. Analyze her. Pick her apart. Kiyoko let him do so with a smile on her face – as if daring him to try.

"Nami told me you were willing to pay 25 grand for the last Ofelia piece of the collection," the woman continued. "That's quite the price," Kiyoko turned her head to her favourite piece in the room. The darkness that surrounded the painting was hypnotizing. She peeled her eyes away back to the Ootori who shrugged.

"My offer was 20," he pursed his lips, obviously not allowing the woman to cheat him out of 5 grand. The Ootori was not stupid. Already offended by Kiyoko, he narrowed his eyes and stared back at her in dominance. The woman did not flinch – he wondered what would take her to lose her cool. He nearly huffed in frustration.
"That's too bad," Kiyoko responded nonchalantly, obviously holding the upper hand as she always had. "25 was the price I was willing to let it go for."

"Why do you like it so much?" the Ootori wondered. It was clear that she had an attachment to the painting – one that would not have allowed her to let it go unless it was for an outrageous price like the one she had named.
"I don't know – maybe because I'm insane?" she playfully answered, dodging the question. It was not her job to convince him to buy it. If he had wanted it, her opinion of the piece did not matter. "Why do you want it?" It didn't seem like the Ootori would have appreciated art like others did.

He stared back at the painting. He wondered why too. But for some odd reason, there was something about the piece that was comforting. He would never admit it himself, or out loud. In the midst of the dark hues, the depressing tones of it all – it was almost like someone had felt the same thing as you did when you looked out in the ocean. In the arms of the ocean, your thoughts were swept away by it all. It was calming. Comforting. Settling. Peaceful. Hopeful, even. It was a good piece. The only one that really spoke to him. He always thought of art as something that was frivolous. But perhaps, there was some value to it after all.

"It would be a good addition to my office," Kyouya cleared his throat.
"What do you see?" Kiyoko asked him softly. Her eyes batted at him in curiosity. He saw the way her long lashes fell with the way she blinked at him. They were so delicate to be attached to someone as vicious as her. Yet, he was drawn to her – anyone would have been. She could tell that he was drawn to her, even if he didn't want to be.

The Ootori paused, snapping himself out of the trance she put him in. He wondered if it was a test – and what was she even testing him for? He looked at the painting again, turning his head to study the piece.

"The sea," he answered quietly, almost whispering it as a secret. He refused to look at her, almost embarrassed that he was able to see something other than just darkness. There was no logic to it, really. It was what he saw first when he stared at it. The gallerist raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at how he managed to see what she saw.

"Alright," she agreed quietly. "It's yours." She began walking away, her heels echoed down the hall with just the first few steps.

Kyouya blinked in surprise. "Wait," he called out to her. "Why?"

Kiyoko turned on her heel and tilted her head at him. She too, was trying her best to read the Ootori – caught by surprise in the way that he saw the piece in the same way she did. Kiyoko did her best to keep her calm façade, unwilling to let the Ootori realize that they were perhaps, more similar than they both thought. She looked at him for a split second before moving back towards him, closer than he was ready for. Again, he could smell the notes of gardenia in her perfume. It intoxicated him when she gazed into his eyes. He would have leaned back reflexively but resisted to assert his dominance. He was not afraid of her – or at least, that was what he hoped she would pick up from his body language.

"Why not?" she whispered coolly, her eyes meeting his. They were both trying to stare into the windows of their souls – but who were they kidding? Neither of them had the souls that regular people had within them. "20 grand," Kiyoko reminded him, not breaking eye contact. The way her eyes pierced at him made him feel exposed under her gaze – the sort that made you want to hide immediately. And yet, he could not look away. "Let's close this deal by the end of the week."

He gulped involuntarily. Why was he like this? The way she boldly walked up to him like he was nothing but a peasant to her. He could do nothing but stare back at her. She was shorter than him and likely even shorter without those goddamn loud heels she touted across the place. Her lips were filled in a deep red, as they always were. She seemed fearless and he too, was fearless. Yet here, he was utterly frozen when it came to her for the second time.

He stared at the painting that was professionally hung on the wall opposite to his desk in his office. Turns out, when you pay 20 grand for a piece, you also paid for the professionals that came in to showcase the painting in the perfect light. He was not yet on the top floor but being the director of business operations was not too shabby. He had the spacious corner office on the 50th floor, overlooking a decent view but it was not the top floor he had always wanted to be on.

He stared at the wall, leaning against his chair during a five minute break between conference calls. He saw the sea. But he saw her too, the way she looked at the painting in comfort was the kind of mood he mirrored when he looked at the painting too. She never answered why she liked the painting. His visit to her ended up with him being 20 grand lighter in his pocket and still, no progress at the matter at hand: getting the Hibayashi business.

She really was something. He shook his head, still undecided between being impressed with her as a businesswoman or being angry at her manipulation of him to make a sale. He expected her to be on the offensive – considering his first encounter with her. But somehow, he fell into her trap as she quietly drew him in, not even putting up a fight. Oddly, he could not detect any sort of ill intent that emanated from her. No matter how hard he tried to find it in her eyes, her voice, or her body. She softly looked at the piece but looked at him in the same way he looked at her: with caution.

Kiyoko Hibayashi meant no harm – unless provoked, it seemed. She played fair, or fair enough in the world of business. It was him who made the first offer on the painting, after all. She ran with it, succeeding in what she had always intended to do as a gallerist. Make a sale.

It bothered him – not the fact that he spent chump change on a piece of artwork that he was drawn to. It was the fact that he made a mistake. He did not do his due diligence when it came to her. How she was someone he had underestimated. And of course, she had seen it coming from miles away – the way everyone underestimated her. Nothing seemed to surprise her.

Nami watched the two from afar. The way her boss walked up to the man with such confidence was something that she could never pull off. Nami could only admire the way Kiyoko took charge within a split second. She was fearless. Relentless in the way she dealt with difficult people. She had a way of always getting what she needed, no matter what. Nami had dealt with the Ootori first and concluded that the man was probably not someone to be reasoned with when he insisted on speaking with her boss almost immediately.

There was never a day that Nami had not seen Kiyoko dressed in the utmost elegance from head to toe. She was beautiful in every way, even if she came in exhausted after a long day. Nami wondered if the Ootori had asked to see Kiyoko just out of sheer physical attraction. Some people did. But oftentimes, they grew fearful after their initial interaction. She was beautiful to look at, but only from afar. Nami was proven wrong when the Ootori leaned backwards as Kiyoko grew increasingly closer to him without even touching him. The woman had the upper hand without even having to try.

If he was attracted to her, he was most certainly unable to express it given the way his body involuntarily retracted at the woman. How could Nami blame the Ootori? Kiyoko scared her on a daily basis, and she had been working for the woman for years now. Nami could only watch from afar when Kiyoko softly spoke to him. Nami was expecting her to cuss him out, or aggressively shoo him away given her bad mood.

But here she was, looking up at him in curiosity, reading him like a book. He responded in the same whispered manner, as if he spoke secrets that either of them were unable to tell the world. Nami watched the way Kiyoko's eyes moved to read his face, her lashes so beautifully delicate in the way they opened up her doe eyes. When she finished with him, she turned her back and walked away before he called out to her again. Whether he knew it or not, he was fascinated by her. Inexplicably drawn to her. Nami wondered if she too, felt the same – especially when she returned back to him.

Nami had never seen her boss like that. Kiyoko was someone who was undeniably efficient at decision-making, relentless until she was able to achieve the vision she had set out for, and never wavered in her ideals. She was a good businesswoman – a no nonsense kind of personality.

But Kiyoko looked at the stranger - so softly and curiously when he responded with the sea. Like something inside of her had snapped to have her shoulders relax at the answer, the way Kiyoko's eyes fluttered at the two words, and how the woman immediately relented – Nami knew. Kiyoko saw the sea too.

It was an unexpected connection. A surprise for all of them. But Kiyoko would never let him know that she saw what he did.

She would never let anyone know that she wanted to drown in the painting every time she looked at it – drown in the comfort that someone else understood the kind of hollowness the painting provided. The thought that you were not alone in your feelings of sorrow, your loneliness, your confusion, your fears. Kiyoko believed that no one else would understand that this painting was of hope, not of sadness.

And yet, here he was. He understood.