Mrs. Yuigahama let out a small sound, caught Sosuke Kitahara's wrist, and whispered, "Wait this isn't right."

Sosuke frowned. "What's wrong? Did I miss something?"

Hands cupping her cheeks, she stared up at the dark ceiling, voice trembling. "Kitahara, I'm… scared. I can't quite say why. If if I tell you to leave right now, will you go?"

"I won't."

He propped himself over her, breathing in the scent of her hair. "If I walk out, who helps you clear the drug? Who helps me?"

Color deepened in her face. "Then can you promise to forget tonight ever happened?"

"I can't."

Heat still worked through him; the moment his fingers brushed her silken skin, letting go felt impossible. He dipped to kiss the curve of her neck, breath warm against her.

She meant to resist, but that breath turned her bones to water, a shiver running the length of her body. "At least… after this we go back to normal," she managed, voice shaking. "No bothering me, no… pushing. If you can't do that, I I'll change my mind."

He drew a steady breath and smiled. "All right. I promise. If you want, we can just be friends. I won't force you."

He tipped his head and found her lips. She turned, chest rising and falling, breath quick, body twisting beneath him then, with a sudden curl of her toes and a taut tremor in those long legs, she startled, pushed him back, and stammered, "Let's… forget it."

Sosuke's smile gentled. He lowered his gaze. "Don't be tense. Breathe."

Shame and frustration warred on her face; reason was slipping by inches. At last she gave the smallest hum, covered her face with the pillowcase, and let the night blur soft around her.

…

…

After a long while, Sosuke was the first to settle. He brushed the damp strands from her forehead, studied that flushed, luminous face, and drew her close, kissing her with grateful warmth. "Thank you," he said, voice rough. "Truly."

Her eyes shone with a faraway light; a ghost of a smile touched her mouth before a sigh unwound from deep within. "Kitahara," she murmured, "I hate myself."

He started, palm soft against her cheek. "Why?"

Covering her face with both hands, shoulders quivering, she began to cry. "I've betrayed my marriage. I can't face myself."

He frowned and kissed away the tears. "No one will know."

She shook her head, shame in every line. "That's not it. Known or not, I still feel filthy. Kitahara, I… I'm drowning in guilt."

"He's gone," Sosuke said quietly, holding her until her breathing calmed. "Whatever you do now, there's no one left to accuse you."

His low voice, patient and steady, soothed her at last. She drifted off curled against his side like an exhausted child.

About twenty minutes later, she stirred. Opening her eyes, she found Sosuke in the same position as before, head braced in his palm, watching her without blinking. Her heart tripped; she shot him a look through wet lashes. "What are you staring at? Haven't you seen enough?"

"Never," he said simply. "You're… breathtaking. Enough to drive a man mad."

Her cheeks flamed. "You're not so bad yourself," she muttered. "Not just a sweet talker, but also…"

Sosuke's pulse skipped. "Also what?"

She squeaked and hid her face. "Nothing! Don't ask."

Pride flickered through him despite himself. He leaned in, voice low. "It's your fault for being too irresistible. Even I didn't think I had it in me."

She couldn't help a laugh, then looked abashed, touching her burning face. "I never imagined I could lose myself like that."

Moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains and poured in a pale strip across the quilt. Sosuke glanced down at the woman in his arms her figure all sculpture-smooth lines and lifted himself, intent on her bandaged thigh. She caught his face in both hands. "What are you doing?"

"Checking your wound," he said. "Making sure we didn't tear anything."

A muffled, laughing scold came from under the covers a moment later. "You incorrigible brat…"

…

It was near five in the morning when Mrs. Yuigahama felt her senses return. She had never known anything like it launched like a rocket, drifting through a private sky, suns blazing until she dissolved into heat and light.

Even once she came back to herself, her limbs were pleasantly weak; moving felt like too much effort. She called his name twice and heard no answer.

With a small sigh she closed her eyes for another half hour, then pushed the quilt back and sat up carefully. On the nightstand, under a cup, a note: Stepped out to find a few things.

Find what? she thought, looking around the quiet, empty house. What could there be in a deserted village of identical homes that they didn't already have? Leaning against the headboard, she replayed everything hauling him from the water, their hours of talk, the attack, the wine and last night, which still felt unreal.

Women are contradictory creatures; she was no exception. His care tugged at something in her that wanted to lean, to trust. But that instinct didn't erase the other thing thrumming in her: the hard, protective love of a mother. In the afterglow, the question of age surged up, prickling her conscience with fresh remorse.

Society won't accept this, she told herself bleakly. A woman nearly forty with… a boy Yui's age. The thought made her throat tighten. She lifted the cup, drank, and felt regret push in the sense she had led Kitahara astray. By the time the door opened, she didn't know how she would meet him.

Sosuke stepped in to find her washed and dressed, sitting on the bed. "You're awake," he said, smiling.

Her eyes were complicated. He crossed to her side and lowered his voice. "You don't think we did something unforgivable, do you?" He held out a small, weathered bouquet of roses. "I hunted a long time."

She hesitated, unsure whether to accept it. "We shouldn't have… done that."

"Why?" he shot back gently. "You think I can't own my choices?"

He had guessed she might say this. It gave him a headache; if she shut him out now, the ache would be its own kind of punishment. She had no idea how deeply she drew him.

"We agreed last night," she whispered, biting her lip and staring at the rumpled quilt.

He set the roses on the nightstand and slipped an arm about her waist. She squirmed, but he held her not harshly, simply firm enough that she settled, softening against his chest as if the argument had drained out of her.

He watched the sweep of her lashes. "Half a year ago," he said quietly, "I had a fever bad one. Out for days. In the dreams… I learned a lot. When I woke up, something had… opened. Since then I've never thought of myself as a 'typical' kid. Truth is, the things I do aren't what a normal kid does. I'm telling you because I can protect you. In this broken world, I won't let harm touch you."

She said nothing, only turned her cheek against his chest, breath warm through the fabric.

If she wouldn't answer, he couldn't push. He only wanted to ease the weight in her mind. He told her about a drama he liked The Sage's Love though he bent the plot: a divorced woman and a younger student fall in love, she crushed by what society would say, he brave enough to love out loud, until the fear and doubt fall away and they choose each other.

Whether that show had ever aired in this world, he couldn't say. What mattered was dissolving the fog inside her.

She had been wavering between two poles; his quiet persistence thinned the guilt to mist. It didn't erase reality what lay between them would remain complicated but at least she could look at him without flinching.

"You went out just to find these?" she asked at last, sitting up to take the roses. The petals had wilted a little. She held them to her nose; her stomach gave a soft, complaining rumble.

"Hungry?" he asked, amused, eyes warm.

She wasn't used to this easy closeness; heat rose to her face. She pushed his shoulder, flustered. "Go make breakfast. There should be some instant noodles."

He whistled, boiled water, dropped in noodles, chopped scallions, fried eggs. Soon he brought the tray back. She sat with the quilt around her shoulders, pale skin at the curve of her shoulder luminous, eyes still blurred with the aftermath of heat and tears and too little sleep yet a lazy sweetness softened her, the glow of a new bride. He had to stop himself from drooling into the bowl.

"Ma'am, you're unfair," he said, setting the tray down. "You look twenty in the morning."

"Don't talk nonsense," she laughed. "I saw crow's feet the other day and nearly died of despair."

"Where?" He leaned in, peering. "I don't see a trace. Seems your skincare wasn't wasted."

"Skincare only slows the clock," she said, still smiling. "It doesn't stop it. I pouted for days. I've made peace with it now, and you don't have to console me. In a few years I'll be forty. And don't ask my birthday women past thirty don't need another reminder."

"See for yourself." He passed her a small compact.

She studied her reflection, scrunching her nose. No crow's feet anywhere. "Strange. I swear I saw them days ago. Must be seeing ghosts."

"'Ghosts,' huh?" he teased. "Try 'someone worked very hard last night.'" The source of this content ɪs n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

She shot him a look. His gaze dipped; his hand rose before she barred it with her arm. "Not now," she said softly. "We can't."

He let his hand fall. "You're not still blaming me, are you?"

She shook her head. "No. Last night… was also on me."

He touched her chin with a fingertip. She tensed but didn't pull away. "Kitahara," she whispered, "we… we cleared the drug. We can't keep…"

His eyes were gentle; her words unraveled. He leaned toward her mouth. She shrank back, breath hitching. "Kitahara, we shouldn't !"

Before she could finish, he slipped an arm behind her neck and kissed her.

Her muffled protest turned into a soft bite; he drew back with a hiss. She flicked a glance at the tray and scolded, half laughing, half shy, "Look what you did the soup's all over the quilt…"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, you like the story? Wow, who knew. Go ahead, drop a review and throw some power stones maybe I'll be motivated to keep going.

The story's already ahead on Patron. Go there if you want to catch up faster!

[email protected]/_theon

Change @ to "a"