The afternoon light filtered softly through the sliding glass doors, spilling across the room in warm honey-gold hues and casting lazy long shadows on the walls.
The air smelled faintly of tea, with a trace of dust and something else—perfume, maybe, or the scent of flowers. Seiji couldn't tell.
Jun sat on the couch, phone in hand, tapping absently. Seiji watched his father's fingers, twitching, scrolling, tracing.
He's always busy. Or does he just not want to talk?
Seiji sighed.
Then he heard her.
The smell in the room changed the second Haruko stepped in—barefoot on the tatami, carrying the tray with practiced elegance. The faint jingle of porcelain was the only sound that accompanied her entrance. But she brought in the aroma of fresh energy.
She was almost as calm as always, though her shoulders tensed slightly, and her fingers trembled as she set the tray down.
The small way she steadied herself against the tray told Seiji everything.
Haruko was aware of him.
But she didn't look at him with a smile as she normally would. She kept looking at the tray.
Awkward.
The tea she poured smelled faintly of chamomile; steam curled up, thin and white like smoke.
Seiji saw the briefest flicker of her gaze. Not at him, not yet.
She should look at me. She shouldn't avoid me. She was so touched earlier, what happened?
He moved his hand slowly. The cup clinked lightly as he set it down. Then his fingers hovered for a moment before he placed his hand over Haruko's—soft, controlled.
Her breath caught.
Seiji felt it more than saw it—her chest rose unevenly, shallow, irregular. Her fingers stiffened at first, then relaxed slightly.
Her eyes flicked to Jun. His father's face was down, still absorbed in his phone. Oblivious. A world away.
Is she freaked out? Or excited? I'm not scared—even if he noticed.
He felt the heat of her skin.
His thumb brushed across the back of her hand, almost accidental. Seiji liked how it felt.
I think she wants me to keep going. Is that how much she wants me to take control? Then why wasn't she looking at me?
Seiji's eyes remained locked on Haruko's face. He watched her cheeks flush, as she held her breath, lips slightly parted.
Her gaze darted back to him, and there it was—a quick flash of something. Not fear, something else.
She knows what's happening. She's okay with it.
Seiji felt the jolt of satisfaction. A wave.
His stepmom wanted this. She just didn't want to show it.
The old rules didn't matter to her anymore.
Her hand trembled again, just for a second. And then, with a sigh, she relaxed and looked up at him—desire, loyalty, and submission mixed. Her allegiance had shifted. Right here, right now.
Finally. She's changed. It's happening.
Seiji's thumb brushed against her skin one more time before he let go.
He wasn't rushing. He wasn't forcing anything. He let the moment stretch until he felt ready. And when he did, her hand slipped from his almost reluctantly.
Haruko stood. Slowly. Very slowly. She glanced at Jun again, and then back at Seiji. He looked back.
He made his claim. And she accepted it.
She didn't look away. Not this time.
She looks like she's not sure what she wants. Well, I do. Her body shows what she really wants.
The seed had been planted. She circled him now—even if unknowingly. A silent orbit, but the one she wasn't going to leave.
The claim had been made.
Silent. Unspoken. But undeniable.