Ayaka stood frozen, lips still parted, heart pounding violently in her chest.
Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides.
She could still taste him—heat and tension lingering in her body like a fever that refused to break.
Akihiko stepped back slowly, his hands dropping, but his gaze—sharp, stormy, intense—never left her face.
"You shouldn't have done that." she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"I've wanted to do that." he said lowly, "for far too long."
Her breath caught again.
She turned, walking briskly down the corridor, but she didn't make it far.
She heard his footsteps behind her—calm and unhurried, like he already knew she wouldn't leave.
"Come with me." He said.
She stopped. "Why?"
"Because we need to talk. Privately. No nurses. No Toru. No distractions."
She didn't answer, but he pulled her inside his office.
The moment the door clicked shut, the silence was thick with tension.
Akihiko removed his coat and tossed it onto the couch, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing those strong forearms that made Ayaka's stomach twist with something shameful.
He leaned against the edge of his desk. "So... Moonlight Sonata."
"Don't. she said flatly.
"He likes you."
Ayaka crossed her arms. "I know."
"He wants more than friendship."
"I know."
"And you were going to give it to him?"
She flinched. "That's none of your business."
His jaw clenched, but his voice was calm.
Too calm. "It was always my business. The second he stepped into your life it has always been."
Ayaka looked away.
Her heart was still slamming in her chest.
Her lips still burned.
"I didn't ask for any of this." she muttered. "You disappeared. You left. And now you're just back, forcing your way in like nothing happened."
Akihiko straightened, slowly walking toward her. "I know I hurt you."
She stared at the floor.
"But I never stopped thinking about you."
He reached for her hand gently.
She didn't pull away, but she didn't meet his eyes either.
"I don't want him touching you."
Her throat tightened. "You don't get to choose that anymore."
"Maybe not. But I still want you."
Ayaka's breath hitched.
"And I still think." he whispered, stepping closer, "you want me too."
She turned her head up then—finally—eyes locking with his.
The room felt too small.
Too hot.
She hated how easily he unraveled her, how just his voice made her legs weak.
But before she could answer, exhaustion finally caught up with her.
The adrenaline, the tension, the kiss—it had drained her more than she realized.
Her knees gave slightly, and Akihiko caught her by the waist.
He blinked in surprise. "Ayaka?"
She shook her head weakly, rubbing at her eyes. "You tortured me so hard last night, I couldn't even sleep properly."
Akihiko exhaled quietly and guided her to the couch. "Lie down."
"I'm fine…"
"Don't argue. Just rest."
He crouched beside her, adjusting the cushion, then reached for his coat and draped it over her.
The scent of him surrounded her—clean, sharp, familiar.
She murmured something he couldn't catch as she curled on her side, already half-asleep.
"Still a stubborn girl." he whispered with a soft smile.
She didn't respond.
Her breathing evened out.
Akihiko just watched her for a long moment.
Her lashes resting against her cheeks, lips slightly parted, arms curled like a child.
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'm not letting you go again." he murmured, voice low and possessive.
Then, quieter: "Even if you hate me for it."
Ayaka stirred, her lashes fluttering as a strange warmth and heaviness settled around her shoulders.
Her body ached slightly, muscles stiff from curling up on the couch.
Her mind was slow, still foggy with sleep—until her eyes blinked open, and she found herself face-to-face with a figure sitting nearby in the dim light of the office.
Her heart jumped.
"...Akihiko?"
He was seated in the chair just beside the couch, elbows on his knees, watching her quietly.
Under the soft glow of the desk lamp, his expression looked carved in stone—tired, unreadable, but intensely focused on her.
She pushed herself up quickly, still wrapped in his coat. "How long was I asleep…?"
"About three hours." he murmured.
"You've been… sitting there this whole time?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he stood.
And that's when she saw it.
Blood.
Faint, but definitely there—splattered across the side of his navy-blue scrub top.
Streaks trailed faintly on one sleeve and across his chest.
His gloves and surgical mask lay discarded on the desk, and he was in the process of unbuttoning his scrub top when he suddenly paused, realizing her wide-eyed stare.
Ayaka's breath caught in her throat. "A-Are you hurt?!"
Akihiko blinked, then glanced down.
"This?" He lifted the edge of the scrub top, revealing a clean undershirt beneath. "Not mine."
She sat frozen, watching as he continued undoing the buttons, his movements calm but practiced.
Underneath, his white undershirt clung to his toned frame, and for a moment, her gaze lingered a second too long on the taut stretch of fabric over his chest, the way his shoulders moved.
Realizing what she was doing, she looked away abruptly.
Akihiko let out a low, amused breath. "Were you worried?"
"It's not that..." she said defensively, keeping her eyes on the wall.
"It's me taking off my shirt that's bothering you, then?" he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Ayaka shot him a glare, cheeks instantly burning. "Y-You're impossible."
He chuckled—quiet, low—and walked to the small cabinet near his desk, grabbing a fresh shirt and towel.
He began wiping the specks of blood from his skin in slow, methodical motions, completely unfazed.
Ayaka's heart wouldn't stop pounding.
Not because of the blood.
But because the room suddenly felt too small.
Too intimate.
Too him.
She hugged the coat tighter around herself. "Was it an emergency?"
Akihiko nodded. "A child. Ruptured spleen. We stabilized him."
The weight of that settled between them. Ayaka's gaze softened.
"You… didn't have to stay."
"I wanted to."
Her eyes widened slightly.
He turned his head toward her, still holding the towel loosely in one hand. "You looked like you needed rest more than anything. And I didn't want you waking up alone in an empty room."
Ayaka bit her lip.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest again.
He looked exhausted, hair slightly tousled, the line of his jaw shadowed.
And yet… somehow, he still looked like her safe place.
And that terrified her.
She stood abruptly. "I—I should go."
He didn't stop her this time.
But just as she reached for the doorknob, he spoke again—softly, but with enough weight to stop her cold.
"I'd still do it all over again, Ayaka."
She froze.
"Even if it means watching you walk away… again."
Her fingers curled against the doorknob.
"…Then stop making it harder."
Silence.
And with that, she stepped out of his office—his coat still draped around her shoulders.
------
The late evening air was cool as Ayaka stepped off the bus, Akihiko's coat still wrapped snugly around her shoulders.
She hadn't even realized she'd brought it with her until she got halfway home. It still held his scent — faint traces of hospital sterilizer, his cologne, and something unmistakably him.
She had thought of returning it, but the weight of everything — the kiss, the hospital prank, the way he'd watched over her — had left her head spinning.
She needed space to breathe.
To think.
But as she rounded the corner to her apartment, her steps faltered.
Someone was standing by the entrance.
"…Makoto?"
The tall figure straightened at the sound of her voice. "Ayaka."
His smile was soft, but she could see the tightness around his eyes. The flicker of concern. "You weren't answering your phone. I got worried."
She swallowed hard, then offered a small, guilty smile. "Sorry. My battery died."
Makoto's gaze dropped slightly—then lingered.
"…Is that… Dr. Nakamura's coat?"
Ayaka froze.
Her grip tightened around the fabric. "It's nothing. I just fell asleep at the hospital, and he lent it to me."
Makoto didn't speak for a moment.
Then he let out a soft sigh and reached up to brush a lock of hair gently behind her ear. "You seem different."
She blinked. "Different how?"
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Like… your heart just got pulled in two different directions."
Her throat tightened.
"I didn't come here to pry." he continued quietly. "I just… wanted to make sure you were okay..."
"Makoto…"
He lifted a hand to stop her. "I get it. I really do. He's someone important to you. Maybe more than I realized."
There was no bitterness in his voice — just quiet resignation.
A kind of sadness that hurt more than anger ever could.
"I told you I wouldn't give up." he added, voice softer now, "but I won't force you either. If it's him… just say it."
Ayaka shook her head slowly. "It's not that simple."
"Because your feelings aren't simple." Makoto finished for her. "I know."
A silence settled between them, heavy but strangely gentle.
Finally, Makoto exhaled. "Come on. I'll walk you up. It's late."
She nodded, wordless, following beside him in silence.
Once inside her apartment, Makoto stopped at the door, his hand resting on the frame.
He looked at her one last time — eyes warm but searching. "When you figure it out… whatever it is you're feeling… I hope you'll tell me."
Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, leaving Ayaka standing there in the hallway, still wrapped in a coat that didn't belong to her — and with a heart tangled in a storm she couldn't escape.