Chapter 15

Those eyes. Those fucking eyes made him feel so fucking vulnerable. Could she see how much he wanted to touch her? To close the distance between their faces? Was she egging him on just to pull away again? He gripped the edge of the table, restraining himself from wanting to pull her down with him, have her settle in his lap straddling him by the hips. Was this just one of those tricks she played?

"How do you not realize what you could achieve with me?" he growled, refusing to let her win. He decided that it was not worth giving in. Not yet, anyway.

His angry tone caught her off guard, snapping her out of her own daze.

"We don't want the same things, Ootori-san," she reminded. Kiyoko hopped off the table before she could stop herself from getting too close to him. She was drunk. Kiyoko sensibly put the bottle down and tried to get her wits back together, distancing herself from him by settling back in her seat. She slowed her breathing to the best of her ability, calming herself down. She used the remaining bits of her energy to try to keep herself rational.

"You want the same things, Kiyoko," Kyouya growled. "You just don't see it." The Ootori stood from his seat and circled his way over to her to pin his arms on the armrests of Kiyoko's seat, locking eyes with her. Her pupils were dilated – just like his. She had to have felt the same way he did. Did she not? What else could those eyes have meant?

"What do I have to see?" she scoffed. "I have no interest in climbing up the social ladder." The top of the ladder had nothing for her – it only meant falling from a higher height.

"Let me show you," Kyouya urged. "You could run an empire." An empire with me, he wanted to add. They could really monopolize healthcare in the country and beyond the confines of just their island nation.

"I built my own," Kiyoko snarled. The business was never hers to take. It was something she was never asked nor allowed to consider.

"You've built a small village," the Ootori shot back. What could that little gallery of hers do? She could be making far more than she already did. Art collecting should have been a hobby of hers. Kiyoko was smart enough to achieve more than just that. Why was she pretending that this was all she could do?

Kiyoko glared back at him, not hiding her offense. He just belittled her entire way of living.

"Let's face it," Kyouya was not one to mince his words either. He couldn't have cared less at the daggers she shot at him. "You're just afraid."
"Afraid of what?" she challenged. "I'm not afraid of you." She never was. If anything, he was afraid of her. Now, maybe much less so.

"You're not afraid of anyone," Kyouya knew better than that. "No, Kiyoko… you're afraid of becoming something you cannot control. That's why you quit gambling too, isn't it? You could have kept going but you didn't."

She stared at him, trying to keep her expression blank. I see you. He saw her in ways that nobody else would have ever imagined her as. She lived a life of being belittled, forgotten, unseen. But he was here doing the opposite to her. Was she terrified? Or was she revelling in the feeling of finally being recognized? She looked down at her hands, not realizing that they had grown fidgety – uncomfortable in the way that he forced her to see herself in ways she refused to consider. It made her uncomfortable. This was the sort of thing she was allowed to do to him, not the other way around.

"Power looks good on you," Kiyoko repeated his words softly in disbelief that he spoke of her in such a way. He really meant it, didn't he?

"Of course it does," he quoted her back. But it looked better on her than it could ever look on him. The way she could wrap someone around her finger like that, it was admirable. She knew how to work the system just like he could.

Kyouya surrendered to her, kneeling at her feet as though she truly was a queen that sat on her throne. Her eyes followed his body down towards the ground, almost amazed that he was willing to worship her, even if it were just to prove a point. No one had ever done such a thing. They never worshipped, no - they cowered in fear. His arms trapped her in the confines of the mahogany chair, refusing to let her escape. He would show her what it he could do, no – what they could do. He embraced the fear she used against him, against the rest of the world.

"Power looks better on you, Kyouya," she whispered to him, her gaze softer. He wanted things she could not give. Or at least, she didn't think so. It felt wrong to accept all of this praise, if it could even be considered as such.

"Kiyoko," he sighed out of frustration. How could he make her see what he saw? "What you did tonight with that Monet – imagine doing that with billions."

"I don't need billions," Kiyoko refused. "I am perfectly content."

"No, you aren't," the Ootori accused. He could see it in her eyes: the boredom that glazed over her irises when things came easy to her. Kiyoko played it safe, she never attacked unless she knew it was a sure win. She gambled with high stakes but always with great odds. She took the unconventional route for things, creatively meandering her way around the social landscape. Appearing only when needed and disappearing without a trace. Kiyoko was someone who was greatly underestimated, an untapped resource of power.

Kyouya knew better than that. He understood now. She was a sleeping dragon.

"We could be great together," he whispered. "Think about it."

"I don't want to," she mumbled, refusing to look into his eyes. She stared ahead into the darkness, not letting him sway her. Kiyoko clenched her jaw. "You don't even know me." Or my family, she wanted to add. Not that they were a conventional one to begin with but that was another story for another time.

"You don't know yourself," he argued. "You could be so much more than this." Kyouya shifted his head so she was forced to look at him. He crept up closer to her face, pleading with his eyes to see what he saw in her. His warm hand enveloped hers. She held her breath at the way he delicately touched her. "We could be so much more than this."

"What's this?" Kiyoko asked meekly. "What is much more?" She didn't want to think about more. The more she thought about it, the larger the pit of her stomach grew. Her heart beat so rapidly as though it were aching for him to rip into her chest and to take into his hands. She was hurt before she could even experience the pain of the real thing – was that not enough of a warning for her to pull away?

"Us," he breathed. "We could be more than this dance we play at every chance I get to see you. We could be something incredible."

"Incredible," Kiyoko murmured softly. She refused to let the words get the best of her and shook her head, still in disbelief. "You have such high expectations for a silly gallerist like me."

"Why can't you see what I see?" He pulled away from her and stood up in frustration. The more he inhaled her perfume, the more he dizzy he got with desire in wanting to bury himself in her neck. Plant kisses behind her ear. Let his hands wander her back, down to her waist and her hips, pulling her against him. It was getting harder to focus with the way that she sat so still, his eyes hungry with wanting to revel in her exposed skin that was all for him to see but not to touch.

Kiyoko relaxed in her seat, relieved in the space he was finally able to give her. His back was turned so she could take a couple deep breaths, letting her chest rise up and down with more ease. The damn Ootori was getting more and more convincing every time. It didn't help that it felt like time had slowed down every time she moved her head. She hoped she was not slurring in her words. It must have been the wine.

Kiyoko stood from her chair while the Ootori's back was turned. She firmly planted her feet on the ground to balance herself and prayed that she did not wobble. She gripped the armrests of the chair for extra measure before closing her eyes and took a leap of faith to let go. She cautiously steadied herself and opened her eyes again, hoping that she had a clear view of the door so she could make a run for it.

There was no way she could make a run for it when the Ootori stood as an obstacle in her way. "Just think about it," he begged, placing a strand of hair over the fold of her ear. His touch was so delicate, almost fearful of what she could become if he tried anything different. All he wanted her to know was that he would never hurt her. It would never be his intent. He wanted her in every way possible. He treasured her.

"Please," he tried again.

Kiyoko stood as still as she could and sighed. She took his warm hand that had brushed her hair aside and pulled it closer to her chest, to the bare skin of her sternum. She kept her hand over his, trying to let him to understand. Kyouya's eyes only widened, his lips parting in surprise in the way that she let him touch her. It was like a gift he was never meant to receive. Did she know that he had been aching to do that the entire time?

"Do you feel that?" she whispered. "You're doing this to me… and it scares me," Kiyoko admitted. She let him feel the way her chest heaved up and down in a sorry attempt to try to calm her heart. There was genuine fear in her eyes in the way that she begged him to let her go. Let go in every sense, pretend that she did not exist, erase her from his memory. He felt the way her heart softly thumped against his palm. He had to concentrate to feel it.

How could he let her go? His other arm reached over her waist, pulling her close to him. Kiyoko was thankful for the way that he was able to hold her steady so she could keep herself upright. He pressed his lips onto hers, softly to soothe her. He caressed her neck gently, his touch was light as though he were holding a fragile glass soul.

She was, indeed, more fragile than she would like to have admitted. Kiyoko prayed that her body would not take over, tears threatened to sting her eyes again. What was this feeling? Weakness. She was so weak. Always had been weak – soft and malleable to the emotions that gnawed away at her. She was never quite like what her grandmother was, no matter how much she tried to emulate her. She blinked a few times out of good measure, making sure her eyes were as dry as her throat.

"Why does it scare you?" he whispered, pulling away only centimetres apart. His warm breath tingled against her ear. If only she could also feel his own pulse against his wrist, would she understand that they were one in the same? He felt it too. What could he do to prove it to her?

"You know why," Kiyoko muttered. They were always taught to put up a front of strength. Never allowed themselves to be seen as vulnerable and afraid, not in front of anybody. What she was committing was absolute blasphemy if her grandmother would have found out. A whole wave of guilt washed over her immediately.

"Trust me," he coaxed. Did he catch onto the way she stopped breathing? "I could give you everything — no, anything," Kyouya corrected. He meant it. Whatever she asked for, he would turn it into a reality. Power looked good on her, even if she were to wield it on him.

It felt wrong for him to ask. To let her do such a thing to him. Kyouya trusted her wholeheartedly like no one ever did. Him wanting to give her everything did not seem fair when she had nothing to give him. He picked up on her hesitation and stopped trying to speculate, there would be no possible way for him to know what went on in her mind unless he got a straight answer from her.

"What do you want?" he asked gently.

"I don't want anything," she responded in her usual clipped tone. Stay calm, Kiyoko. He can't wear you down. What was he even wearing her down from, anyway? Why did it feel so wrong that he cared so much for her? Was it not enough that she already let her guard down more than she had to?

"You want something I cannot give," Kyouya deduced. She was a complicated one. The easy things: materialistic goods or social status never tempted her. She wanted something more. Something he did not have. What didn't he have? Kyouya wondered.

"Yes, something like that," Kiyoko settled. "I don't think I can give you what you want either," she continued.

"You could give me the time of day every once in a while," he offered. Kiyoko brushed him off so often, she had to have caught onto the joke. It was a bad joke, of course, but she played along anyway. Her long thin fingers disappeared into one of her sleeves and fished out her phone. The lock screen was impersonal - the same default screen that he had on his phone. Goodness, they were nearly the same person. How odd, wasn't it?

"Nearly 11," she murmured. "It's time to get going."

"There are pockets in there?" he asked, curiously. Kiyoko looked up at him, blinking at the question. He seemed to have easily dropped the previous topic so quickly, so casually. Was this him showing mercy? Surely, the Ootori was not one to give up so easily.

"Yes, they were intentionally sewn in at my request," she answered factually. Kiyoko took advantage of the tension that had dissipated and babbled on. "Pockets are practical. I am very fond of them, actually."

Was that really necessary to add, Kiyoko? Stupid fucking alcohol, she thought to herself. Why did it matter to the Ootori about how much she actually quite adored pockets? In her dresses, her skirts, her coats… Kiyoko realized she was getting too comfortable with the man and made the conscious effort to move her legs, wanting to ignore the fact that she was just being stupid.

"What else are you fond of?" he asked, trying to keep up as usual. She was walking at a slower pace than he thought she would. Her steps were heavy, her legs did their best to balance on those stiletto heels. Even then, she still looked graceful as she moved across the room and into the darkness with the emerald train of fabric trailing behind her. She was beauty, she was grace, and he would have worshipped her as his queen if she let him.

"Um," she squeaked out unintentionally. Kiyoko still wasn't quite sure of where these questions were leading to. She stopped in her tracks and thought about the question. It felt like she could only focus on one thing at a time. Either walking or thinking. Not both at the same time.

"Me?" He flashed his signature smile at her. Kiyoko only stared blankly at the man, hoping she did not look flustered. The surroundings became fuzzier. Her body wanted to surrender to the alcohol, tiring itself out from fatigue. Her brain moved at a glacial pace when she needed to be ten steps ahead — she was thinking and thinking and still, it let her nowhere. Kiyoko drew a blank when it came to him. What was she supposed to do with him? His stupid smirk. His oddly sincere promises. His awe of her. She just wanted to escape. It was the safest option. Think later. Analyze when she was sober.

And he wouldn't let her. Kyouya gingerly took her hand, intertwining his hands with hers before she could start walking again. He pulled her closer to him, letting her rest her head against his chest. She laid her ear against his pressed shirt, inhaling the way he smelled so crisp and fresh. He was so gentle with her, finally understanding that he could not fight her. Fighting her did nothing but frustrate him and amuse her. No, he was not going to make that same mistake.

"Yes," she quietly admitted with a sigh into his shirt. "Yes, I am stupidly fond of you. Alright? Can I go home?" Kiyoko frowned but mostly to herself. Was that what he wanted to hear? Would he let her go with the admission of her own weak self? Was that enough for his ego? He could go home triumphant and hold this over her head forever.

"You could at least pretend to mean it," he muttered, disbelieving. He loosened his grip around her hand.

Kiyoko looked up at him, lips parting in confusion. She missed the warmth of his hand on hers. She was searching for something in his face: an indication that he was joking or that he was just trying to get under her skin. He looked back at her, almost saddened by the assumption he had made. Kiyoko didn't mean it. Not with that blank unemotional expression. He looked pained, as if he had laid out all of him for her and she still refused it all.

Her stomach flipped. He looked like her. Pained. It wasn't that she did not want him — gosh, she wanted him. She wanted him in every way he probably did not want to give. She wanted him to stare at her in the same awe that he did tonight, every night. Kiyoko wanted him to eat meals with her, meals that she would cook for him just because she could. She wanted to drink with him, laugh with him, understand him in the ways that he tried so hard to understand her. She wanted him to hold her, comfort her, tell her that she was not merely just a pawn in business.

What would make him understand?

She locked her eyes with his, refusing to let him look anywhere else. There wasn't much else that would have kept his attention anyway, not in the way that Kiyoko's eyes had grown dark. They were hidden by the privacy of the shadows, the only light was the moonlight that illuminated the silhouette of their bodies. She pushed against his chest ever so gently, making him walk backwards until he hit the wall adjacent to the exit. Kyouya assumed that this was her way of gracefully exiting the room — Kiyoko had always been good at that. Tricks up her sleeve to leave him breathless and unsure of what had even happened until she was gone.

She planted her toes against the ground and reached up to his neck. He tensed at how cold her hands were. Her movements were slow, mirroring the same fashion of him earlier, almost afraid of scaring him away otherwise. She leaned in and planted a sweet chaste kiss on his lips. When Kyouya realized that she was pressing her lips against his, now with a little more force — he stood blankly with his brain on fire. What was he supposed to focus on? The gardenia scent that had now been planted into his clothes with her skin exposed? The way her hands so gently cupped his jaw and the back of his neck. Her warm breath as she pulled away for air before diving back into his lips. She grew hungrier, sighing against his jaw and his neck.

"I mean it," she whispered into his ear, standing on her tippy toes because the Ootori had refused to bend down for her. He was stuck frozen. "You have no idea how much I mean it," her voice was on the edge of pleading.

"No," Kyouya breathlessly answered. "No, it's you," he finally found his voice. "It's you that has no idea." He had to show her. No, worship her.

His hands found her waist as he bent down to respond with his own lips. No words. There was no need for it. His hands felt like fire as they trailed along her waist and to her hips. The fabric was rough against his skin, cold because of the lurex fabric. She let his mouth explore her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders. Kiyoko let out a small sigh at the way his mouth warmed her ice cold skin. She let him breathe her in, burying himself in the crook of her neck. God, he loved that spot, didn't he?

She fell limp under his grip and Kyouya caught her easily by the small of her back and the nape of her neck. He gently turned her against the wall instead for support, meeting her lips again as he let the strands of her hair card through his fingers. His hands ran up and down the exposed skin of her back beneath her cape that had since fallen down her shoulders. She was so soft. And fuck, she smelled so good. Kyouya had always been hungry for her with both his hands and his lips but she had always been more reserved, quietly taking in his affection. But now Kiyoko was muffling a quiet moan — a noise she would have been embarrassed to make if she cared more about hiding her feelings.

She shouldn't have been allowed to sound like that but Kyouya would have given everything to try to hear it again. He swore inwardly. Fuck, she was better than he could have ever imagined. His fingers found their way against her waist again, squeezing her against his body. He wanted all of her, so long as she would let him.

Kiyoko began planting kisses against his neck, pulling his face down with her hands. She was in her own frenzy of trying to get him to groan with the sweet peppering of her own lips on whatever she could get. His neck, his jaw, his cheeks. She kissed him with more force, nipping against his lips with a playful bite. He let out a groan and his open mouth was enough for her to knock the air out of his lungs with a passionate fever of absolute desire. Did he understand now? She hoped so because she had no intention of stopping the burning of her skin beneath his touch.

He pressed closer against her, trapping her to the wall, annoyed that she was in a dress that he couldn't quite get beneath. His hands had been wandering around her ass, gripping it over the fabric. He moved around her hips, and down against the back of her thighs. His mouth had been working on the exposed skin of her sternum, open mouthed and wild. He was losing control just like she was. She let out a quiet chuckle, sensing his frustration.

"Sorry, I'll make sure to wear a dress with easier access next time, hm?" she murmured against his ear with a cheeky grin. Kiyoko wasn't expecting to get absolutely wrecked like this. No, this was certainly not part of any agenda she had. She wondered if the Ootori thought the same. Judging by the way that he was frantically trying to pin her against the wall, hungry and deprived of touch, she didn't think so either. He felt her smirk against his ear before she planted a kiss against his temple, letting him regain some coherent thought in his brain.

He was still trying to catch his breath, crouched over her body with his nose in the little nook of her neck. His brain was empty. All he could think about was how he felt. And fuck, it felt good. It felt ridiculously good. It was dangerous. Kyouya decided that he liked danger. And damn, he liked her too. Dare he say that he had also grown stupidly fond of her as well?

Just the way he breathed against her made her want to shiver. Kyouya had unintentionally drawn the left strap of her dress down her shoulder in his crazed need of wanting to touch her — every part of her. The fabric was dangerously close into exposing her entire breast as it dangled down her arm. She smirked at him, wondering if he would dare.

"Say it like you mean it," he muttered when he caught her with a shit-faced grin, edging him to ruin her. Or rather, ruin him. He started forcing himself to tidy up the mess he made of her by pulling up the strap back to where it belonged. Kyouya tried to comb the sleek hair that reached below her breasts, doing his best to straighten it from the frizz that he had created. It wasn't perfect but at least it gave her some semblance of modesty again. Kiyoko stayed still while he tried so earnestly to brush her hair. He probably had ruined the parting to be honest but that didn't matter anymore.

Kiyoko smiled up at him before lunging forward and kissed him, hoping he would see stars from the force of her weight against his body. He welcomed it, drunk off the way that she could smile and elicit the same kind of want and need he never knew he had when it came to her. He cupped her jaw and held her by the neck. It was a secure grip made to make her feel comfortable. Asking him to trust her. She relaxed and melted into his hands, her knees nearly giving out if he didn't have her against the wall for support. She trusted him. Kiyoko pulled away and smiled at him again, wondering if he thought that was enough of a promise. A yes to a next time. A yes to the fact that maybe, just maybe, he could get her down to almost nothing. He just stared at her in a daze, still drunk off of her kiss and unwilling to think too much about what if or what else.

"I can still get on my knees," Kiyoko whispered evenly with a raised eyebrow. His mouth stood agape as he tried to process her words. A sudden flush blossomed on his cheeks as he coughed uncomfortably, realizing the implication of her words. He pretended for a second as if he hadn't heard her. Kiyoko tried her best to stop herself from laughing but to no avail. She burst out in a giggle and threw her head back and looked away from him.

He huffed in annoyance after realizing she had been joking. Kyouya felt the vibrations from her body as she laughed under his grip. Kyouya hated being made the fool each time and yet he let her do it anyway. There was something comforting about the genuine laughter that echoed in the empty room that brightened the dark corner they stood in. The Ootori narrowed his eyes at her, hoping that she would stop.

Instead, Kiyoko gave him a lopsided grin before looking straight ahead to find his Armani tie that was now off-centre. She made the same effort as he did to straighten him out, her hands moving down from his neck to the silk fabric of his tie to aptly adjust for him as though she had done so countless times before. He could count the number of lashes that were on her eyes, trying his best to memorize the small details of her face. When she finished with his tie, she gave him a once over and nodded in approval. Hopefully they looked presentable despite losing absolute control over one another for god knew how long.

"So can I," he whispered in retaliation. The Ootori was not one to lose, after all.

"Hm?" Kiyoko had been distracted by his usual scowl, it always brought her amusement. Not to mention the broad shoulders and chiseled jaw that she missed planting kisses on to recall what he had been referring to. She wanted to run her hands over his arms again, trail her nails against the muscles that she could grip right beneath the layers of fabric.

"Get on my knees," Kyouya clarified.

Kiyoko fell silent and blinked, also taking a second to realize what he had referred to. That bastard really knew how to give her a taste of her own medicine, didn't he? He smirked at her, watching her expression move from confusion to comprehension. He couldn't decide if he liked her better laughing or silently mulling over what he had said. Speechless was a good look on her too, he decided. She was stunning in every way possible.

"Say it like you mean it," she growled, pretending to not be flustered. Kiyoko hoped that the darkness could mask the redness that began blooming on her cheeks. Her whole body ran hotter than it already had been. She instinctively clenched her thighs together. She prayed that the Ootori hadn't noticed her knee-jerk reaction. It was embarrassing, really.

"I can get on my knees," he repeated against her ear, tucking a strand behind it. He sunk down slowly to prove his point, looking up at her with a sinister smile as he planted kisses against her exposed sternum. Her eyes widened in surprise, unable to decipher the look on his face – was he bluffing? Her eyes searched his face for any kind of indication of hesitation. Those stupid eyes behind those glasses never broke eye contact with her. He was serious. He meant it. He always had. She bit her lip in anticipation, her chest heaved as she breathed to try to keep herself calm.

"Fuck," she let out. She didn't mean to say it, no — not out loud. She breathed in sharply at his touch when his large hands found her barren ankles. His fingers trailed up against her calves, and slowly hiked up her long skirt.

"I can," he offered with his signature smug smirk. She ran her hands through his raven black hair. The slight tug at his scalp had awakened something within him that made him pause. Damn the woman for being so vigilant at his every move, she did it again as if trying to confirm the result of her experiment. His hands trailed up further up her long legs, the smooth skin ran beneath his fingertips. The featherlight touches turned to a firmer grasp when he finally reached her thighs.

He looked up at her, as if asking for permission. Or maybe he was looking to see how her face had contorted into an expression of absolute utter need. Either way, Kiyoko bit her lip and sighed to draw her head back against the wall.

"Not fair," she murmured with a groan. She did not play this game right. She was wrecked. No no no, she could not lose to the Ootori, not like this. Not when she was the one who started it. The alcohol had finally begun moving out of her system. Maybe he had kissed it all away. Either way, her brain had begun working rationally again.

"What's not fair?" he asked. "Losing control, Kiyoko?"

"Fuck," she drawled, shaking her head. "Get back up here, you fucking bastard."

"I quite like it here," the Ootori shrugged, tightening his hold against the back of her thighs. He resisted the urge to move any further up, her skirt still covered enough of the woman that Kyouya would have had to use his imagination. But his hands had travelled and explored enough to give him an idea that her long legs were certainly not an illusion.

She took her hands out of his hair and met his hands that had been buried under her dress. The fabric was heavy and thick, weighing her down at every step. If it were lighter and easier to hold, she would have held onto the fabric for him.

"Fine," she gritted out with a growl. He wanted to play this game? She would play with him. Her fingers guided his hands upwards, hers over the fabric of her skirt, and his against the cheeks of her ass and then all the way up her hips where the lace had sat comfortably. She rested her hands on his, waiting for him to make the next move. His eyes widened as he gripped her waist, her fingers forcing him to trace the delicate patterns that circled around her bare skin.

"Fuck," it was his turn to swear quietly. He couldn't even pull his hands away, not in the way she had dug her fingernails into his hands to keep them where they were.

"What's wrong?" she leaned down towards him. "Losing control, Kyouya?"

She wasn't allowed to look like that. No, not in the way she glanced at him with such certainty that it was very much her who was in control. Kiyoko let him revel in the sensation of the lace beneath his fingertips, just a thin layer between his fingers and her hot skin. She encouraged him to dig his fingernails into her waist, maybe hook his finger under the fabric. She held him against her by the hands on her waist, waiting. But he stood still, watching her gaze instead — lips parted ever so slightly in amazement.

God, what did he do to deserve her?

Kyouya really didn't, not in the slightest. The woman was still leaning over at him, her eyes watching him with curiosity.

Why was the man hesitating? She wondered. Did she lose her touch? Was she suddenly undesirable? What the fuck was the Ootori thinking? Kiyoko glared at him, studying him with all her might. Her mind was still in a bit of a haze, her surroundings clearer now than they were before. But still, her brain moved at a pace that couldn't quite keep up with her impatience. Her breathing grew heavier.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Huh?" It was like her mouth had a mouth of her own. Fuck. Why did she let that slip out of her head? Did she have to sound so clueless? "What do you want?" Kiyoko did her best to recover from the slip of her tongue.

"I want…" he trailed off. Kyouya couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He couldn't keep his hands off of her either. Suddenly they were both breathing more heavily than intended, now in sync with each other. They looked at each other with the same ferocity of need. "I want to do this right," he decided, pulling his hands away from under her.

"What?" Kiyoko hated how perplexed she sounded. Her hands nearly reached for his when he shifted away but at the very least, she had the sense to keep them to herself to not seem awfully desperate. It made her feel stupid.

"Not here," the Ootori muttered, looking down. He had expected her to make a half-assed comment, teasing him about being a gentleman in her usual sarcasm. But none of it came.

"Oh," was all she said in a small voice. "Right," she nodded as she had gotten to her senses. Kiyoko looked away from him and towards the exit. It felt odd to be shy around him, but it didn't help that he had also grown awkward after standing up to face her.

"We should…" she somehow was unable to utter the words and pointed towards the door.

"Right, yes," he agreed a little too quickly, dusting off the knees of his pants.

She led the way out of their hideout and then grumbled at the sudden shift in lighting, much preferring the darkness over the fluorescence that lit the halls. Kiyoko wanted to bury herself into his chest and close her eyes but instead she settled for shielding her eyes with her hand instead. Kyouya hurried her along, taking the hand she used to shield her face with and forcibly tugged her over to the coat check. She never thought she would have liked the way he held her hand with such firmness — it was not like the usual firm business handshakes, it was… it was comforting.

"How are you getting home?" he asked, looking at the woman who was clearly tired. He knew because she was no longer glaring daggers at anyone she came around to. Instead, her eyes were softer, her voice quieter, and her body ached to be closer to him. He didn't mind keeping her around his waist, tucking her under his chin. She liked the extra warmth as they waited outside.

A cab, probably, she thought to herself. But instead, Kiyoko pressed her luck in annoying the man with a small smile.

"I thought you were taking me home?" the woman batted her eyes innocently at him. The Ootori raised an eyebrow at her before shrugging coolly. He would have been lying to himself if he did not consider this a best case scenario.

"I suppose I could—"
"—But you still live with your parents, hm?" she teased.

A cab had drawn up towards the curbside. Kiyoko was quick to grab the handle of the passenger seat, claiming it as her own. But not before drawing him in so naturally by the torso and reaching up on her tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Text me, okay?" she whispered before letting go.

He was an absolute fucking fool for her.