Then his thumb pressed against her lower lip and lingered.
Heat sparked down her spine like a fault line flexing under pressure.
Arthur stepped back, his expression unchanged.
A few feet away, someone finished an interview. White silk. Platinum blue hair. A face like it had been designed by a committee of angels with a sizeable budget.
Jiro.
April suddenly understood why people screamed at concerts. It was too much light for one body to hold.
He thanked the interviewer, turned to leave, and then his gaze landed on Arthur.
"Arthur." Jiro's voice was warm, genuinely pleased. He walked over with the ease of a man who'd never met a room he didn't own.
"You're looking well," Jiro said, his eyes flicking briefly to April. "And in far better company than spreadsheets."
Arthur's mouth twitched. A smirk so small it might've been a rumor.
He said nothing.
Jiro waited.
Arthur continued to say nothing.
"Arthur," Jiro said again, a question threaded through it. "Who's your friend?"
Arthur didn't offer a name. Just tilted his head toward April, barely a movement—an acknowledgment and an invitation.
No one was going to do this for her.
Liam had called it armor. Built underneath so she wouldn’t fold when it mattered.
This was the matter.
"I'm April."
Jiro's attention shifted to her fully, and it felt like standing under stage lights—too bright, but clarifying. "I'm Jiro."
"Yes," April said. "I know."
Silence stretched. Her brain emptied, leaving her standing there with nothing but her own name.
"How was your day?" Jiro asked, his tone kind.
"I've had a day," she said, with a laugh that came out a little wild. "The kind that ends relationships and starts rumors. Turns out April Fools isn't a joke."
Jiro tilted his head. "Tell me."
And she did. She told him about Chad. About the cupcake—the actual object, the anniversary frosting she'd picked out carefully. The sounds she'd heard. The things she'd seen. The supply closet.
"I'm telling you this because Chad is a fan. Of you. Specifically."
Jiro's expression didn't change, but the air grew dense.
"He worships you," April continued. "He has your albums. He quotes your lyrics. He talks about your love songs like they're scripture."
She bit her lip.
