I woke before dawn.
The soft glow of sunlight slipped through my curtains like a whisper, brushing gently against the walls of my quiet room. Everything was still — the kind of silence that wraps around you and breathes calmly beneath your skin. Familiar. Ordinary.
For a few minutes, I didn't move. I listened to the faint sound of my mother's slippers brushing across the floor downstairs, the distant chime of plates, and my father's low, even voice reading the morning paper aloud. The same sounds I heard every morning. The same peace.
Pulling myself out of bed, I let the cool wooden floor greet my feet. My room was simple. A clean desk. A shelf of well-worn books. A small bonsai tree bathed in slanted morning light. A single photo on the wall — our family smiling in the garden during last spring's festival. A smile that meant something, once.
Downstairs, breakfast was waiting like it always was. Green tea. Toast with butter. My mother gave me a warm smile, her hair tied up loosely, eyes soft.
"Good morning, Ren. Did you sleep well?"
I nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
She packed my lunch as usual, even slipped in a folded note like she always did — sweet, predictable words. My father simply nodded at me from behind his newspaper. I didn't mind. We were a quiet family, not distant, just… still.
I left home as the sky turned a pale gold. Across the street, her door opened almost in sync with mine.
"Ren!" Airi's voice lifted softly.
She stood there with a bouquet of fresh wildflowers in her hand — bluebells and daisies she probably picked herself. Her uniform blazer swayed gently with the breeze, and her smile… her smile made something inside me pause.
"For you," she said simply, stepping forward.
I took them. "Thank you, Airi."
We walked to school together, our bags slung over shoulders, fingers brushing once or twice but never truly holding hands — not where others could see. But she stayed close, always within reach.
School passed in a blur, like it always did. I stayed quiet in class, not too noticeable, not too withdrawn. I answered when I had to, smiled when I needed to, and let everyone believe I was the quiet, kind boy who was always just a little too easy to overlook.
But Airi never overlooked me.
She sat beside me during breaks. She played with the edge of my sleeve when teachers weren't looking. During lunch, we sat beneath the cherry tree at the far end of the yard. I didn't need to speak much. She filled the space with gentle laughter, stories about books she loved, little complaints about her teachers, and thoughts she never said out loud to anyone else.
The world shrank when I was with her. And it was peaceful.
But today was different.
After the final bell rang, and students poured out of the gates in flocks, Airi touched my hand. Her voice dropped into something softer, something private.
"There's a place I found," she said. "No one knows us there."
Her eyes met mine with a kind of heat that pulsed under her usual sweetness. I didn't need her to explain.
We slipped away together.
The hotel wasn't far. A discreet building tucked behind a row of apartment complexes. The kind of place that didn't ask questions. The kind of place that forgot you as soon as you left.
The room was modest — just a clean bed, soft lighting, thick curtains that blocked the world.
She turned the lock behind us. For a moment, we just stood there.
Then she began unbuttoning her blouse, her hands trembling slightly. Her eyes never left mine. I stepped toward her — slowly, deliberately — and kissed her.
She gasped into me, hands curling into my shirt, mouth warm and soft and desperate. Her skin was hot beneath my fingers, smooth and perfect and mine. Clothes slipped away. Words disappeared. Her back hit the wall. My hands held her thighs. Her breath broke in my ear.
"I want you to fuck me, Ren," she whispered.
So I did.
We didn't rush. We never did. We fucked like it was the only language we shared — her moans tangled with the sound of skin meeting skin, her legs trembling around my waist, nails dragging across my shoulders as I drove into her, deep and steady and deliberate. She gasped my name again and again, eyes rolled back, body arching for more. I never stopped. Not until she collapsed into the sheets, soaked in sweat and shaking with quiet aftershocks.
I lay beside her, her naked body pressed against mine, her lips tracing my chest in slow, tired kisses. I held her. Not out of obligation. Not out of guilt.
Just because I wanted to.
She whispered softly, almost sleepily, "I wish we could stay like this forever."
I didn't answer.
But I listened.
We parted before nightfall. Her house light flicked on the moment she stepped inside. Mine was already glowing warmly, as if nothing had changed.
Dinner was quiet. My mother asked about school. My father nodded through most of the conversation. I gave them the answers they expected. They never looked too closely. That was how I preferred it.
Later, in my room, I opened the hidden panel beneath my desk — a smooth section of wood that slid away under my touch. The passage beneath was narrow, steep, silent.
No one in this house knew it existed.
No one in this world knew what waited below.
The moment I stepped into the darkness, I left behind the boy they thought they knew. The door sealed behind me, cutting off the light, the voices, the warmth.
Down here, the air smelled like steel and power. Panels lit up in soft blue beneath my steps. Shadows clung to the walls like loyal pets.
This was mine.
This was who I was.
End of Chapter 1