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I swallow.

Because yes.

Exactly.

That’s the part I hate most.

Not the wanting.

The inconvenience of it. The wrongness. The timing.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, staring at the open sweets spread across the table. “What if I don’t like who I am around them?”

He reaches over again, this time squeezing my wrist lightly. “You don’t have to solve it tonight.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I say. “I was hoping for divine clarity and a personality transplant.”

“I can offer tea.”

“You’re weirdly good at this.”

“I listen.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You always do.”

I wish he always would, but the world has never been that kind.

***

After I leave Alexei’s place, I decide, against reason, instinct, and probably divine warning, that maybe I should talk to Kento.

I didn’t like the look in his eyes the last time I saw him. I even debated if I should text him and, I don’t know… apologize? Okay, no. Definitely not. But I feel like I have to do something.

That is the plan.

Or it was.

Because then, as I’m walking and stupidly scrolling on my phone like the self-destructive creature I apparently am, I make the fatal mistake of opening Instagram.

And there she is.

Sasha.

Of course.

Color me fucking surprised.

Yes, I stalk her.

What about it?

And in her newest post, Kento is naked on a bed.

I stop walking so abruptly someone behind me mutters something annoyed and has to step around me.

I don’t hear what they say. My whole body goes cold first.

Then hot.