"Hey," Ryouta called out, his voice echoing in the quiet street.
Haruto paused and glanced back, his expression wary but not particularly concerned. Up close, Ryouta could see he was younger than he'd initially thought, probably around his own age. But there was something steady about him, something that suggested he wasn't easily rattled.
"You're the one who beat the crap out of Kazuma, right?" Ryouta asked, a grin spreading across his face. He'd heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. But seeing the guy in person, holding that beautiful girl like she was made of spun glass, made it seem somehow more real.
Haruto nodded briefly, shifting his grip on Satsuki to make sure she was secure. "Yeah, that was me."
The casual way he said it, like it was no big deal, only made Ryouta's grin wider. "Thought so. Word gets around, you know."
He started to circle them slowly, hands in his pockets, taking in the scene. The girl was even more beautiful up close—perfect skin, long lashes, lips that looked soft as silk. And this guy just got to touch her whenever he wanted? Got to hold her close and breathe in her scent and feel her body pressed against his?
"Must be nice," Ryouta said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Having a girl like that."
Haruto's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is there something you want?"
"Yeah, actually." Ryouta's grin turned predatory. "I want to see what all the fuss is about."
He moved fast, faster than most people could react. His fist came up in a perfect arc, aimed right at Haruto's jaw. It should have been an easy hit—the guy was distracted, off-balance from carrying the girl, completely unprepared
But just as his fist was about to connect, Satsuki's eyes snapped open.
For a split second, Ryouta saw something in those dark eyes that made his blood freeze—not confusion or fear, but sharp, cold awareness. Then her leg came up in a lightning-fast kick that caught him square in the chest
The impact was incredible. Ryouta felt his feet leave the ground as he flew backward through the air, his body slamming into the brick wall of the building behind him with enough force to leave a spider web of cracks radiating out from the point of impact. The breath rushed out of his lungs and stars exploded across his vision as he slumped to the ground, completely stunned.
Haruto stared in shock at the scene before him. Ryouta was slumped against the wall, clearly unconscious, while the bricks around him were cracked and crumbling from the impact. It looked like something out of an action movie—the kind of damage that should have required explosives or a wrecking ball, not a single kick from a girl who couldn't weigh more than fifty kilos soaking wet.
But that wasn't even the most shocking part.
The most shocking part was that Satsuki had just gone from completely unconscious to delivering a devastating kick and back to apparently unconscious again in the span of about three seconds.
"Satsuki?" he whispered, looking down at her face.
Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and even, every appearance of being fast asleep. But he could have sworn he'd felt her muscles tense just before she'd struck, could have sworn he'd seen recognition in her eyes for just a moment.
"What the hell..." he murmured, but before he could process what had just happened, Satsuki stirred in his arms.
"Mmm," she mumbled, pressing her face against his chest in a way that made his heart skip several beats. "Haruto?"
"I'm here," he said automatically, his voice coming out rougher than he'd intended. "Are you okay?
She blinked up at him with sleepy, innocent eyes, as if she hadn't just sent a guy flying into a wall hard enough to crack the bricks. "What happened? Where are we?"
Haruto glanced over at Ryouta, who was still unconscious and probably going to need medical attention, then back down at Satsuki's confused face.
"You... you don't remember?"
"Remember what?" She tried to sit up in his arms, swayed dangerously, then seemed to think better of it and settled back against his chest with a soft sigh. "I feel terrible. Did I drink too much?"
The innocent act might have been more convincing if Haruto hadn't seen what he'd just seen. But looking down at her flushed cheeks and slightly glassy eyes, feeling the way she was curled trustingly against him, he found himself doubting his own memory.
Maybe the alcohol had affected his perception more than he'd thought. Maybe Ryouta had just tripped and fallen backward. Maybe—
"Can you carry me home?" Satsuki asked in a small voice, interrupting his thoughts. "I don't think I can walk."
And just like that, all rational thought fled his mind. Because she was looking up at him with those big, trusting eyes, and her body was soft and warm in his arms, and she was asking him to take care of her. The protective instinct that had been simmering all evening roared to life, drowning out any lingering questions about what had just happened.
"Of course," he said, adjusting his grip to make sure she was comfortable. "Hold on."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer until there was barely any space between them. Her breath was warm against his throat, and he could feel every curve of her body pressed against his chest and arms.
"Thank you," she whispered, and he felt the words vibrate against his skin.
The rest of the walk home passed in a haze of sensation and confusion. Every step made him more aware of her—the way her fingers traced absent patterns on the back of his neck, the soft sounds she made when she shifted position, the intoxicating mixture of her perfume and the lingering scent of alcohol on her skin.
By the time they reached her apartment building, his arms were aching and his back was sore, but he almost didn't want to put her down. There was something addictive about having her depend on him like this, about being the one she trusted to take care of her.
"We're here," he said reluctantly.
"Already?" She lifted her head to look around, and the movement brought her face very close to his. Close enough that he could count her eyelashes, close enough to see the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. The air between them seemed charged with possibility, with all the things they weren't saying. Haruto felt his heart hammering against his ribs as he fought the urge to close that last inch of distance between them.
"Come on," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "Let's get you upstairs."
But as he carried her toward the entrance, he couldn't shake the image of Ryouta flying backward into that wall, or the split second of deadly awareness he'd seen in Satsuki's eyes.
Whatever had happened back there, whatever Satsuki was hiding, one thing was certain: there was a lot more to her than met the eye. And despite everything—or maybe because of it—that only made him want to know her more.
The night air was cool against his heated skin as he fumbled for her keys, Satsuki warm and pliant in his arms, apparently fast asleep again. But somehow, he had the distinct feeling that she was much more awake than she was letting on.
And strangely enough, that thought didn't bother him nearly as much as it probably should have.