"Shibuya Station! Shibuya Station has arrived! Passengers disembarking at Shibuya Station, please prepare!"
The announcement echoed through the train car.
Eriri glanced sideways at Yukima Azuma, her brows subtly furrowed in confusion.
He hadn't moved.
Outside the window, the bronze statue of the loyal dog Hachikō came into view—an unmistakable sign they'd reached Shibuya.
Yet Azuma sat still, unmoved.
Why isn't he getting off?
Eriri blinked rapidly, as if that might clarify the situation.
But by the time the doors slid shut and the train pulled away from the station, he still hadn't budged.
"You just missed your stop," Eriri whispered.
Azuma shrugged. "Then why didn't you say something before the doors closed?"
"I—well—!" she stammered. "I'm not your babysitter or anything!"
In truth, she didn't want him to leave. But her pride refused to let the words form.
Azuma reached out and flicked her forehead again.
"Tap."
"Ow! You did it again!"
Three times now. That was definitely excessive.
Fuming, Eriri snapped her golden hair toward him, swishing it with a dramatic "WRYYYYY!"
The soft strands brushed his cheek. Not painful—just a little ticklish.
Azuma let out a soft chuckle.
Then, without missing a beat, he gently ruffled her head.
"I promised Sayuri-obasan I'd walk you home," he said casually. "It's getting late. It's dangerous for a girl to be alone at this hour."
"Hmph!"
Despite the dramatic pout, Eriri's heart swelled with warmth.
"Gakuin Shita Station! Now arriving at Gakuin Shita Station! Passengers, please prepare to disembark!"
They stepped off the train together.
Outside, the night had fully descended.
The dim orange glow of the streetlights didn't quite push back the darkness. Shadows pooled at the edges of the sidewalk.
Without realizing it, Eriri inched a little closer to Azuma.
They turned a corner, approaching the familiar incline.
Detective Hill.
A quiet, nostalgic street. The place where dreams once began.
Eriri's house sat at the top.
They used to walk this road together after dinner, chatting about nothing, laughing at everything.
Now, the air between them was different. The silence was heavier.
Things had changed.
They reached the front door.
As Eriri pressed the doorbell, Azuma gave a small wave, turning to leave.
But the door creaked open almost immediately.
"Ah, you're back!" Sayuri greeted them with a warm smile, then tapped her forehead as if remembering something. "Oh right—your ID, Eriri."
Eriri's eyes widened. She snatched the card from her mother like it was some shameful secret.
"Mom! Why would I need that!? Go back inside!"
The ID, of course, was for accessing her dorm.
Sayuri's gaze shifted to Azuma. Her smile became a bit sly.
He suddenly felt… guilty?
Was she scolding him with her eyes?
No—worse.
She was disappointed.
She had hoped he'd keep Eriri out late. Maybe even… not come back at all.
Azuma cleared his throat.
"I've delivered Sawamura-san safely. If I don't leave now, I'll miss the last train."
"Yukima-kun," Sayuri said sweetly, "why don't you come inside and rest for a bit?"
"No need. Really. I should be going."
He gave a light wave.
Today had been enough.
There was no need to rush.
Eriri needed time.
Sayuri didn't push the issue. Though clearly, she was still rooting for them.
She understood—reunions weren't instant fairy tales.
"Goodbye, Sawamura-san," Azuma said formally, turning away.
Eriri clenched her jaw.
This guy!
"Hmph! Yukima-kun, goodbye!" she snapped, emphasizing his name a little too sharply.
Back at his apartment, Azuma exhaled.
His entire schedule had been thrown into disarray because of his unexpected encounter with Eriri.
He was supposed to bring a gift to Kasumigaoka Utaha tonight.
That window had closed.
But Yukima Azuma was the kind of man who always prepared contingencies.
He opened his mailbox.
Inside was a small, elegantly wrapped box—the gift he had prepared for Utaha.
It wasn't for any specific occasion. It was the kind of gift you kept in reserve—something for a birthday, or maybe Christmas.
Tonight, though, it would serve as an apology.
"I'm home."
"Welcome back."
As he stepped into the apartment, he saw her.
Kasumigaoka Utaha.
Lounging on the sofa, half-reclined like a bored queen.
The soft glow of the ceiling light bathed her in warm hues.
Her long, black hair spilled down like silk, and her red wine-colored eyes blinked sleepily up at him.
She looked… domestic.
Like a wife waiting for her husband to return.
Azuma blinked at the image.
Even for him, it caught him a little off guard.
No way he could walk in empty-handed now.
He stepped into the living room and held out the gift box.
Utaha's eyes immediately sharpened.
Her delicate hand reached for it before her mouth even formed the question:
"Can I open it?"
Her fingers were already undoing the ribbon before he even nodded.
She wasn't the type to pretend to be polite. Unlike most Japanese girls, she didn't wait. She wanted.
She peeled off the wrapping, eyes glimmering with interest.
Inside—
Two soft, white silk bands.
She tilted her head. "What are these?"
"Wrist guards," Azuma explained. "Technically called wrap-around wristbands."
He reached forward, taking one and gently drawing her hand into his.
Her fingers were long and slender. Her skin pale and smooth. The kind of perfection that made you want to touch just to confirm it was real.
He wrapped the band around her thumb, fingers brushing softly against her palm.
She tensed slightly.
His fingers lingered, adjusting the fabric with slow precision.
The warmth of her hand. The way her skin reacted to his touch.
It was subtle—but she felt it.
And he knew she felt it.
Kasumigaoka Utaha's heartbeat picked up.
This wasn't just a gift.
This was foreplay.