She could feel it—his warmth, transferring gently through her fingertips.
Kasumigaoka Utaha's heartbeat began to quicken.
In the quiet of the living room, the soft thump-thump echoed in her ears, loud enough that she was sure even Azuma could hear it.
Yukima Azuma wrapped the pristine white band around her thumb, then circled it twice around her slender wrist before fastening it.
Finally, he let go.
That brief contact ended too soon.
Kasumigaoka Utaha stared at her bandaged wrist, fingers twitching slightly.
She could still feel where his hand had been.
And deep down… she didn't want it to end.
If only they could've held hands just a little longer.
She brushed the thought away, covering her quiet disappointment with a sigh as she examined the wrist guard.
Simple. Elegant. Immaculately chosen.
"This helps relieve strain," Azuma said calmly, as if sensing her thoughts and pulling her back to the moment. "Especially during repetitive tasks. Typing, writing… things you do every day."
He glanced at her.
"Senpai's a novelist. I figured your wrist must hurt sometimes, even if you never say it."
"…Sometimes," she admitted softly.
"Overuse can lead to tendinitis. If you don't take care of it now, it could get serious."
His tone was matter-of-fact—but beneath it, there was a gentle concern that reached her far more than the words themselves.
Utaha traced the band with the fingers of her free hand, lips curling slightly.
She hadn't expected this.
The gift was thoughtful—but what truly mattered was the intent behind it.
Someone had noticed. Someone had cared.
Without looking at him, she extended her other hand.
"To think my ex-boyfriend-kun would come home bearing something other than takoyaki."
Her voice had a teasing lilt now.
Kasumigaoka Utaha didn't tease people she didn't care about.
Azuma smirked.
"If it were anyone else, I would've brought takoyaki. From Takomasa, no less."
He began wrapping her other wrist, this time taking his time, the motion slower—more deliberate.
"But if I gave that to you, I'd be scolded, wouldn't I?"
Utaha raised a brow.
"You think I'm that petty?"
"No. But I do think you'd step on me."
"Would that be a problem?"
"Not in the slightest."
She let out a small laugh, watching him finish the wrap with a final, practiced tug.
The band hugged her wrist perfectly—comfortable, supportive, beautiful.
Just like that, even her hands felt more elegant.
"Take a photo for me."
She pointed lazily toward her phone on the table.
Azuma picked it up.
"Give it here. I'll unlock—"
Before she could finish, she heard the familiar click of the lock screen vanishing.
She froze.
He didn't even ask.
He remembered the password… and on the first try.
Her eyes flickered. That password—her little secret—was the day they met.
Azuma stepped behind her, reaching past her shoulder, positioning the phone.
Her hands lifted slightly, striking a casual yet graceful pose beneath the warm light.
Click.
The photo was taken.
Utaha took the phone back, her fingers lingering on the case he'd just held.
She stood up, walking toward the stairs. But just before ascending, she turned and looked back at him over her shoulder.
"I really liked the gift," she said softly. "I'll return the favor, but… choosing the right thing takes time. So, don't hold your breath."
Azuma smiled. "I'll be waiting, Senpai. No rush."
She quickly turned and disappeared upstairs, but her heartbeat still hadn't slowed.
Once inside her room, she stared at the wrist guards again.
Why did something so simple feel so special?
She admired them like a child showing off a prized treasure.
Then, without thinking too much, she opened her phone.
Tapped into Twitter.
And uploaded the photo.
"Wrist Guard."
That was it.
No hashtags. No context.
Just a subtle declaration, hidden behind nonchalance.
Kasumigaoka Utaha's Twitter account had a verified checkmark under the pen name Kasumi Utako—a literary icon to light novel fans across the country.
She rarely posted.
She never shared personal photos.
Until now.
And this wasn't just any photo—it was both of her hands.
The reactions exploded within minutes.
[Such beautiful hands. I'm actually dying!]
[Do I send my tongue or will Kasumi Utako-sensei send her hands? Asking for science.]
[I tried to look up the wrist guard… It costs more than my rent. Crying.]
[HOW MUCH?!]
[Only the rich deserve wrists, I guess. Screenshot attached.]
[Forget it. I'll just admire from afar.]
[Wait… who took the photo?]
[Watson, you've spotted the blind spot!]
[Both hands are in the frame. Who took the picture? HER TONGUE?]
[That angle's impossible unless someone was behind her!]
[I'm not saying it was a guy, but… it was definitely a guy.]
[Shut up. It could've been a female friend, okay!?]
[…It's a man. I know it's a man. She's glowing. That's the 'I was wrapped in warm hands' glow.]
Kasumigaoka Utaha didn't respond to any of them.
She didn't care.
Let them speculate.
She just wanted to post it.
To show it off.
Not the wrist guard—but the meaning behind it.
Because no matter how many times she looked at her hands, adorned with that gift, she didn't get tired of it.
It made her feel—
Seen.
Cared for.
Cherished.
And that, in itself, was worth sharing with the world.
Even if they didn't know the whole story.