The evening sky was a deep navy, streaked with the last hints of sunset. The city lights blinked alive, throwing their reflections across glass towers and car windows. Haruto pulls up in his sleek black car outside the luxurious restaurant, one hand casually in his pocket. His expression was unreadable, eyes flickering with impatience.
He opens the door for her. Yuki's heels clicked sharply against the pavement, her red dress hugging her figure as though she had dressed for a photoshoot. She wore her confidence like perfume, her smile dazzling as she saw him waiting.
"Haruto," she said breathlessly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Without a word, his lips curved into a smirk that might have been mistaken for charm, but his eyes gave nothing away. Yuki flushed at the attention and slipped inside. Haruto followed, the faint scent of expensive cologne filling the enclosed space.
"Beautiful night for dinner, isn't it?" Yuki said, trying to start conversation.
"Depends on the company," Haruto replied smoothly, his voice low, carrying that familiar edge of mockery.
Yuki's cheeks warmed, taking his words as flirtation. She giggled softly, looking out the window as the city blurred past them. Haruto, however, stared straight ahead, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at her naivety.
Meanwhile, across town, Yui turned the key in her apartment door. She sighed, dropping her grocery bag on the counter, expecting silence. Instead, the clattering of pans greeted her. She blinked, stepping into the kitchen.
Shoji stood there, sleeves rolled up, an apron hanging carelessly over his casual shirt. His dark hair was tied loosely at the back, a few strands falling over his forehead. He glanced over his shoulder, catching her surprised expression, and grinned.
"You're late," he teased, stirring the pot on the stove. "I thought you'd ditched me, so I started cooking without you."
Yui blinked. "You… cook?"
"I do a lot of things," he said, turning back to the pan with a shrug. "Now stop staring and come chop these vegetables before I burn the whole thing."
She rolled her eyes, but warmth tugged at her chest as she walked over. Taking the knife, she started slicing carrots. Shoji leaned close, his chin almost brushing her shoulder.
"Careful," he murmured, guiding her hand with his own. His fingers were warm, steady. Yui's heart skipped, but she focused stubbornly on the carrots, not on the closeness.
At the restaurant, Haruto guided Yuki inside with a hand at the small of her back. The staff bowed deeply as soon as they saw him.
"Kuroya-sama, your table is ready."
Yuki straightened with pride, reveling in the attention, while Haruto merely smirked, sliding into his seat with calculated grace.
Wine was poured, and the menu placed in front of them. Yuki tried to act sophisticated, ordering carefully, while Haruto lazily pointed at a dish without even glancing.
"So," Yuki began, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. "I've been waiting for this. To finally… spend time with you properly."
Haruto's gaze flicked to her, eyes sharp like blades in candlelight. Then, with an effortless smile, he reached across and brushed his fingers against hers on the table.
"You're happy so easily," he said. "I envy that."
Yuki's cheeks burned. She mistook his words for something tender, when really, they dripped with mockery.
Back in the apartment, Yui struggled with the knife, her slices uneven. Shoji chuckled softly.
"You're hopeless," he said. Before she could protest, he placed his hand over hers again, steadying the blade. "Like this."
Yui's breath caught. For a moment, she froze at how close he was. She could feel the warmth of his body against her back. Flustered, she pulled away quickly, her face heating up.
"You're annoying," she muttered, splashing a bit of water at him from the sink.
Shoji blinked, then smirked. Without hesitation, he dabbed flour across her nose. Yui gasped, swatting at him. The kitchen filled with laughter, the simple sound echoing in a way that made her chest ache with something unfamiliar—comfort.
At the restaurant, Yuki leaned in closer, emboldened by his attention.
"What about your future plans?" she asked eagerly. "Your father must have so many expectations. You'll inherit everything one day, won't you?"
Haruto leaned back, his smile turning faintly cruel.
"My future isn't mine to decide," he said softly, swirling the wine in his glass. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Yuki froze, unsure if it was a compliment or an insult. His voice was smooth, but his eyes were hollow, empty.
The rest of dinner passed with the same rhythm—Haruto giving just enough to make her feel special, while every word was laced with disdain she couldn't recognize.
Back in the apartment, the meal was finally ready. Yui and Shoji sat at the small table, steam rising from bowls of miso soup and stir-fried vegetables. Yui picked up her chopsticks, tasting the food. Her eyes widened.
"It's… good," she admitted reluctantly.
"Of course it is," Shoji said proudly. "I made it."
She gave him a look, but the corners of her lips twitched. The atmosphere was light, simple. For the first time in what felt like forever, Yui felt like she was living in a normal world—one without cruel smirks, mind games, or whispers behind her back. Just warmth. Just laughter. Just Shoji.
As they ate, Shoji spoke casually about his life, telling her funny stories about his part-time jobs and his brother's quirks. Yui listened quietly, her mind wandering. Her hand brushed her pocket, where the necklace with Haruto's initials still lay hidden.
She shook the thought away, focusing on Shoji's voice, not the pull of someone else's shadow.
Later that night, Haruto walked Yuki back to the car. She clung to his arm, giddy, convinced she had finally won a place in his heart.
But Haruto's smirk never faltered, his eyes dark and distant. To him, the entire evening was an illusion—a play he had performed flawlessly.
When Yuki wasn't looking, his smile slipped. His gaze turned to the street, sharp and cold, already thinking about the next move in his father's game.
In contrast, Yui stood by the sink, sleeves wet from washing dishes. Shoji leaned beside her, drying plates with a towel.
She flicked water at him again. He retaliated, both of them laughing.
And for the briefest moment, Yui forgot everything else.
The necklace. Haruto's smirk. The way her heart had raced on the Ferris wheel.
Here, in this little kitchen, with Shoji's laughter filling the air, she felt safe.