They descended the stairwell, each step echoing faintly against the concrete walls. The silence between them wasn't exactly awkward—but it wasn't comfortable either. Aiko hummed to herself, some lazy, meandering tune with no rhythm or melody, just a stream of sound to fill the space. Her hands were buried in her hoodie again, like she didn't have a care in the world.
Oliver watched her from the corner of his eye.
"...So," he finally said, breaking the quiet. "You always show up like that? Bag of cursed petals, cryptic smile, mind contr—hypnotizing guys off rooftops?" He frowned slightly, still not sure what had really happened up there.
Aiko glanced at him sideways, her grin returning without an ounce of shame. "Only when I'm bored and annoyed. Or just looking for something fun. And hey, it worked, didn't it?"
"I'm pretty sure I'm traumatized," Oliver muttered.
"Oh please," she scoffed, waving a hand. "You didn't even flinch. Those other guys looked like they were about to pee themselves. Besides, that stuff wasn't cursed. It's... complicated."
Oliver gave her a sidelong glance. "You do know how bad 'it's complicated' sounds when you hand someone a bag of what looks like witch shavings, right?"
"Witch shavings," she echoed, then laughed. "God, I love that. Gonna steal it. That's mine now. Hmm… actually, never mind. Doesn't fit the theme."
She pulled down her hoodie and reached into the pocket. From within, impossibly concealed, she drew out a black magician's hat—oversized, theatrical, and far too large to have been hidden there. Without a trace of irony, she placed it on her head.
"Ta-da," she said, turning around and throwing up jazz hands.
Oliver blinked at the hat.
"Where—where the hell were you even keeping that?"
Aiko spun back to face forward, descending the last few steps. "Trade secret," she said breezily, tugging the brim down with a flick of her fingers like a stage magician preparing her next trick. "A girl's got to have her mysteries."
"I'm starting to think you're ninety percent mystery and ten percent felony," Oliver muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You're not wrong," she said without missing a beat. "But you left out the glitter. I'm also, like, forty percent glitter. Spiritually."
The scene you're writing has great content and character progression, especially Oliver's internal debate—it feels raw and natural. There are just a few areas where the flow and clarity could be polished to really make the moment land. Here's a cleaned-up version of your paragraph with minimal changes to voice or tone:
Oliver paused as they reached the street. Maybe it was the bell that snapped him back to his senses. Wait—was he seriously just heading to Tokyo with someone he'd only just met? All because she said the woman who'd branded him wanted him to go there for "experience"?
And if he did go… what would his family think? He didn't even have a phone to contact them, and even if he did, would they be okay with it?
Best-case scenario, he gets scolded for a while. Worst-case? Disowned again. Told to stay in Tokyo and not come back.
He glanced down at his bag, then back at the corridor behind them. For a moment, he considered just blowing Aiko off. He didn't owe her anything—not for joining the Threadcutters, not for following her around like some stray dog.
And he was going to walk away.
But then… he didn't.
His home life was already screwed. What was a little more damage?
Gripping his bag, he took a breath, set his jaw, and caught up with her.
"That's our cue," he said. "And I'm guessing your dreamscape had something to do with magicians and stuff? Or is it a world of hypnosis or whatever?"
Aiko glanced back at him with that same unreadable grin, tilting her magician's hat slightly as they walked.
"Hmm," she mused, fingers trailing along the school's railing like she was half in this world, half in another. "I'll only tell you if you are," she added, sticking her tongue out before grabbing his hand. "Let's talk while we walk—I wanna be in Tokyo by two."
Oliver blinked at her, feeling her fingers wrap around his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. She pulled him forward with a spring in her step, completely unbothered by the weight of what they were doing—skipping out on school, heading to a city neither of them had real plans for, bound together by cryptic dreams and cursed talismans.
"Guess we're not gonna find out then," he said, tone light but edged with something else. "Because I'm not telling either."
He tugged his hand free—not harshly, but deliberately. Aiko turned, curious, maybe a little surprised. Before she could quip back or flash another mischievous grin, he stepped forward, closed the distance, and kissed her.
It wasn't careful.
It wasn't slow.
His hand slipped behind her neck, pulling her in as their lips met, mouths tasting of something sharp and uncertain—curiosity, tension, adrenaline. She froze for a moment, just long enough to register what was happening, then leaned in with a little hum against his mouth. The world around them softened. The school, the looming weight of the decision, the weirdness of the day—it all folded in on itself, tucked beneath the space between them.
Then he pulled away, a breath shorter than before, heart thumping far louder than he wanted to admit. His hand dipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the worn paper of the talisman.
Hold on," he said, half-grinning now.
The half-full dantian in his body confirmed his sudden suspicion. His Yang energy surged, purifying and transforming as it returned to his core, refining the small wisp of Yin he'd tactfully drawn from Aiko during the kiss. His Qi stirred, vibrant and alive, pushing him closer to the peak of the early Qi Condensation realm.
That was the difference between a human and a Dreamwalker.
He remembered the faint wisp he'd absorbed from Yuki after their first kiss—same in size, but nowhere near as potent. Aiko's Yin carried weight, presence. Like her spirit pressed into his, leaving a mark that refused to fade.
He smiled, the heat from the kiss still burning in his cheeks.
He held the talisman between two fingers. It was still warm. Still waiting. With a flick, he whispered whatever half-formed word he felt tugged from instinct, and the paper shimmered gold for a split second before crumpling into ash in his hand.
The world tilted.
Light bent wrong.
Aiko's hand snapped back into his without a thought, and the concrete beneath them gave way—
—with a soft pop, they landed on solid pavement, the roar of traffic replacing the school bell behind them. A cracked, weather-worn bus stop stood nearby, and an elderly man blinked at them over his newspaper, too tired or too polite to ask questions.
Oliver adjusted the strap of his bag and looked at Aiko.
"Two p.m., right?" he smiled, already making decisions for what came next. If he'd gained this much Qi from just a kiss with Aiko, what would happen if he went all the way? How much higher would the return be? And besides, Morgana had mentioned the rising numbers of Dreamwalkers and figments, right? What if he could turn them into Yin-Yang conversion machines? It was decided. He'd take every Dreamwalker and figment that caught his eye.
Aiko stared at him, the magician's hat slightly crooked from the sudden jump through space. Her expression was unreadable for a moment—then she gave a slow, impressed nod, brushing soot from her shoulder like she'd just stepped offstage after a particularly dramatic trick.
"You really just did that," she said. "Kissed me and teleported us mid-sprint to a busted-ass bus stop. That's gotta be worth, like, five cool points at least."
Oliver gave her a look—half smug, half amused—and let his bag drop from his shoulder, the thump muffled by cracked concrete.
"Five cool points?" he echoed. "That was worth at least seven. Eight if you count the hat staying on."
Aiko narrowed her eyes, reaching up to straighten the crooked brim with exaggerated care. "Barely stayed on," she muttered. "Your teleportation timing is garbage."
"Still got us here, didn't I?" he said, stepping in close again. "Besides, I think you're just mad I stole the moment."
She opened her mouth, probably to toss back some sarcastic line—but he didn't give her the chance.
His hand came up again, fingers threading gently into the back of her hair beneath the rim of her magician's hat, and he kissed her—this time slower, with no rush to vanish or escape.
Aiko didn't freeze this time. She leaned into him, soft and unhurried, lips pressing back against his in a quiet rhythm that felt more like gravity than impulse. The kind of connection that hummed below the skin.
His dantian responded instantly.
Yang energy flared within him, vibrant and assertive, pouring into her like a pulse of heat laced with purpose. For a brief second, their spiritual cores brushed—not clashing, but circling. Her Yin energy, subtle and coiling like silk in water, met his with a spark.
Just like before, a wisp of her Yin peeled away, drawn into the funnel of returning Yang. It wasn't stolen—it came willingly, twisted into his current like a thread seeking its match.
The effect was immediate. His meridians pulsed, opening wider, the channels drinking in the refined essence as if they'd been starved. The warmth spread through his limbs, sharp and clean, strengthening every pathway within him. His core—the dantian at the center of his being—vibrated, shuddering slightly as the Yin fused and balanced, tempering the Yang and pushing him one breath closer to a breakthrough.
When he pulled away, his breath caught against hers. Aiko blinked slowly, her lips parted just slightly, eyes searching his face for a beat too long.
Then she smirked. "...Show-off."
He grinned, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. He took a breath—then kissed her again.
This time, there was no teasing lead-up, no challenge in his eyes—just a quiet, steady pull as he leaned in, mouth finding hers like it was the only natural thing left to do. They were standing at a cracked old bus stop with peeling paint, cars rumbling by like they didn't matter, like the world had thinned out to just the two of them.
Aiko melted into him without resistance. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, grounding herself as his presence slowly overtook her senses. The kiss deepened, slow and hungry—not rushed, but purposeful.
Inside him, the Yang pulsed again.
It didn't surge violently—it rolled forward, hot and coiling like golden fire pulled along unseen threads. As their lips met, her Yin met his Yang once more, that same soft tide of cool, silken energy answering the call.
It drifted to him willingly.
Wisp after wisp of her Yin peeled away like threads of moonlight in water, drawn inward through the bond of their kiss. Each thread joined his Qi, circling his dantian in a spiral dance of balance and refinement. His meridians hummed with the fusion, warmth lapping at every limb as his cultivation edged closer to the next stage.
It was almost meditative—the rhythm of breath, the low thrum of power weaving through his veins. He could feel the difference between this kiss and the last. Not just in cultivation, but in weight. The Yin she offered him now wasn't just energy—it was tinged with intent.
Aiko's hand rose slowly to the back of his neck, nails brushing gently through his hair as she matched his pace, her body pressed close to his like she wasn't thinking about the world at all. Her Yin energy flowed softer now, thinner—but no less rich. She wasn't drained, not even close. But he could feel the gradual pull of spiritual balance tipping ever so slightly in his favor.
Seconds passed.
Then a minute.
The hiss of brakes and the groan of an engine pulled them apart.
A bus rumbled to a stop beside them, its doors creaking open. Neither of them moved at first. Her lips were flushed. His breath came slower, deeper. Their foreheads touched again in silence.
"Definitely eight cool points," Aiko murmured, eyes still half-lidded. "Maybe nine. You're gonna spoil me if you keep doing that." her hands moving under his shirts collar, as she brought them forward and tieing a black bowtie around his neck. "but, your really trying your luck, you know that? "
She leaned in and kissed him on the neck, but instead of the softness of her lips, a light stinging sensation washed over his skin, leaving a faint, visible lip mark on his neck.
A gust of wind swept past as the bus doors yawned open with a wheeze, interrupting the strange stillness between them. The driver didn't even glance up, too busy nursing a lukewarm coffee and pretending not to care about the faint smoke-like energy rising from the mark on Oliver's neck.
Aiko turned smoothly, already stepping toward the open door. She moved like the scene hadn't just shifted, like she hadn't seared her name into his skin seconds ago. "Well?" she called back over her shoulder. "You coming? Or are you gonna stand there and let the bus leave without us?"
Oliver didn't answer right away. His fingers lingered against his neck for a beat longer before he finally lowered his hand. The sting was gone now, replaced by a gentle warmth—and an even sharper awareness of her.
He exhaled, picked up his bag, and followed.
The inside of the bus was mostly empty. A couple of high schoolers in the back, some old lady clutching a canvas tote filled with onions, and a man in a rumpled suit who looked like he'd lost his will to live somewhere around 2007. The usual Tokyo crowd. No one paid them any mind.
Aiko slipped into a window seat and patted the spot beside her, clearly expecting him to follow.
Oliver hesitated for half a second, then dropped into the seat beside her with a soft grunt. His bag thumped against the floor.
The doors hissed shut behind them.
The bus lurched into motion.
Aiko leaned back with her hands behind her head, legs stretched out just enough to annoy the aisle walkers without actually tripping them. "So," she said, tilting her head toward him, "how long you planning on staring off into space before you say something smug?"
Oliver didn't look at her. He leaned his head against the cold window, watching the streets slide past in a blur of gray concrete and old posters.
"You kissed me and branded me like livestock," he muttered. "Forgive me if I'm recalibrating."
Aiko let out a low, satisfied hum. "Mmm. Sounds like you're admitting I got to you."
"I'm admitting you're insane," he shot back.
She laughed. Loud. Unapologetically. A few passengers looked their way before quickly deciding not to get involved.
"Fair," she said, still grinning. "But I'm fun, too. And let's be honest, you're not exactly running away."
"I considered it."
"But you didn't."
"I still might."
Aiko leaned in closer, close enough that he could feel the brim of her ridiculous hat brush his cheek. "But you won't," she whispered, her voice warm, almost sing-song. "Because you're curious. Because there's something in you that wants this."
Oliver looked at her now. Really looked. The grin, the hat, those wild eyes flickering with stories she hadn't told yet. She was chaos wrapped in charm—and he wanted to see how far this game would go.
"I'm not your toy," he said flatly.
Aiko blinked—then smirked.
"No," she said. "You're not. You're my—" she gave a dramatic pause, "partner. In crime. In chaos. In this hunt, even if it turns out to be another goose chase."
Oliver snorted. "You're delusional."
"Optimistic," she corrected. "With flair."
The bus continued on, bumping through the uneven roads as Tokyo crept closer. Outside the window, the world moved like it didn't care what kind of madness they were about to step into. But inside the bus, between the smirks and jabs, between the aftershocks of stolen Yin and the faint mark still tingling on his skin—
It felt like something had started. Something neither of them could back out of now.
And maybe—just maybe—that was the point.