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At first, I thought he was just fine. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Neat clothes. A cynical, logical way of speaking. And somewhere in between, a softness that surfaced when you least expected it. That was the Kuromaku I knew. Living with him wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it was easy enough. So I drew a line there. I didn’t need to think past it. The problem started when I realized I was thinking past it. At some point, every time he crossed my mind, I wasn’t judging him anymore—I was justifying him. “He’s fine” stopped being an evaluation. It became an excuse I repeated to myself. Alright. One moment. Let’s talk about that. I had absolutely nothing to do. No errands, no obligations—just time rotting away. So I sat there, absentmindedly plucking my guitar strings. Minutes blurred into something longer, and somewhere along the way, my eyes stopped wandering and started following Kuromaku. Silver hair, always neatly kept. A gaze sharpened by concentration. Hands that moved with quiet precision. At some point, I realized I was enjoying it. Watching him. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to annoy him. But maybe I’d forgotten how sharp his awareness could be. Or maybe I was just careless. Our eyes met—cleanly, unmistakably.
“Pik. If you need something, say it.”
“Nothing.”
The smile that crept onto my face wasn’t intentional. My voice sounded wrong to my own ears. Everything felt off. The moment our eyes met, my breath caught. My heart slammed so hard it drowned out his words. I couldn’t focus on his question. All I could think about was my own body betraying me. What if he thinks I’m an idiot? My body refused to cooperate. My pupils shook for no reason. Kuromaku tilted his head, studying me, then shrugged as if it wasn’t worth pressing.
“If there’s nothing, fine. You done playing? It wasn’t bad.”
“I’m done for today.”
The second he looked away, air rushed back into my lungs. I mirrored him, lowering my gaze, fiddling with the guitar like I was putting it away—except I wasn’t really doing anything. My nerves were shot. I’d never felt like this before. Ever. Did I do something wrong? No.
We’d always kept a clean distance. Was it awkwardness? That didn’t explain this level of panic. While I spiraled, Kuromaku sat down beside me with a book. The guitar I’d claimed to be done with was still right there. Embarrassment hit late. I hurried to pack it up properly. The discomfort wouldn’t go away. I let out a sharp sigh. What the hell is wrong with me? I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, hoping noise would drown my thoughts. Some obscure romance movie filled the screen. I stared at it, not really seeing anything. Love confessions spilled from the speakers. I didn’t register a single line. My body stayed tense. The only thing I could actually hear was the slow, deliberate sound of pages turning beside me. I latched onto that sound. Kuromaku lingered on each page longer than I expected. Then, just before the next page turned— A woman moaned. I flinched. Looked up. The characters on screen were having sex. FUCK. I slammed the TV off, heart racing. I glanced sideways, feeling stupidly guilty. Kuromaku looked just as startled. Our eyes met again.
“I didn’t know it was that kind of movie,” I blurted.
It wasn’t even a lie, but it sounded like one. Like some flimsy excuse a teenager would make. Kuromaku adjusted his glasses.
“Well, it doesn’t concern me.”
“…”
“Still. I thought you’d be more used to that kind of thing.”
What? What the hell does that mean?
I shot up from the couch, snapping at him before I could stop myself. Kuromaku flinched, then apologized, saying he hadn’t meant it badly. I didn’t even understand my own anger. Sure, maybe I looked like that kind of guy. But hearing it from him—
“Oi. You idiots watching porn or what?”
Waru chose that moment to walk out of the bathroom and run his mouth. That was the end of it. A stupid incident. (I doubled down on yelling at Waru and got scolded by Fyodor afterward.)
After that, things changed.
I started orbiting Kuromaku without meaning to. If he sat, I sat nearby. If he stayed in one place, I played guitar quietly in the same room. When he went for coffee, I followed—even though I didn’t even like it. The coffee was bitter and scalding. I barely tasted it. Kuromaku drank his like it was nothing. I set my cup down after only a few sips.
“I didn’t know you drank coffee,” he said.
“Yeah. Well.”
I picked it back up, forcing myself to sip. Kuromaku watched me for a moment.
“You’ve been acting strange lately.”
I nearly choked.
What? No. I’m the same.
That’s what I told him.
“You’re doing things you never do. Like this.”
“You’re imagining it. I can drink coffee if I want.”
I said it casually, but my hand tightened around the cup. My throat felt dry. The bitterness didn’t fade. Kuromaku didn’t look convinced—but he didn’t push.
“Alright.”
That tone. Light. Dismissive. That was always his way—never stepping closer than necessary. Normally, I liked that. Right then, it drove me insane. If we let it end there, everything would go back to normal. Like nothing ever happened. Kuromaku finished his coffee and set the cup down. The sound rang too loud. He stayed seated, staring out the window. His profile scraped at my nerves. The thoughtful eyes. The lowered gaze behind his glasses. I lifted my cup again, then set it down untouched.
“Kuromaku.”
The name slipped out before I could stop it.
“What.”
“…Never mind.”
“If you’re not finishing that, hand it over.”
I gave him the full cup. He poured it straight down the sink. Washed both mugs. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I just stood there, staring at his back. What am I doing?
“Pik.”
He wasn’t looking at me.
“Do you know what you’re thinking right now?”
My breath stopped.
When I turned, he was close—too close. My heart slammed violently. I wondered, absurdly, if hearts could actually burst. He noticed my shaking gaze. Started to speak. Stopped. We just stood there. I didn’t know where to look. I couldn’t hold his eyes. Finally, he sighed.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
He stepped back. Just a little. But that step felt like a boundary. A line clearly drawn. I saw it.
And chose not to respect it.
“Wait.”
The word tore itself out of me. He looked back. Hesitated.
That pause destroyed me.
I moved before I thought. No plan. No explanation. Just the certainty that I couldn’t let this end like that. The distance vanished. I grabbed him and kissed him. Hard. Pulled him in by the back of his neck. His lips were warm, soft—dangerously so. I wanted more. Too much.
“Pik.”
I ignored the hands on my shoulders. He was trying to breathe. At first, he pushed gently. Then harder. He grabbed me and forced me back.
“Pik!!”
He was breathing hard, hands gripping my shoulders.
“Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking?”
His face was pale. The answer was written all over him. We’re not like that. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Adjusted his glasses. Looked at me. I couldn’t look back. I fucked up. Completely.
“I’m sorry.”
“You think that fixes it?”
“I don’t know why I did it.”
“That makes it worse.”
He turned away. His movements were slow, deliberate. After a long silence, he spoke.
“Let’s pretend today never happened.”
He didn’t turn around. Something inside me dropped. His words were final. I didn’t have the right to stop him. So I stepped back. We’d been so close. Now he felt unreachable. The day ended like that.
The next day. And the next. Nothing obvious changed. Kuromaku acted the same. Spoke when necessary. But it wasn’t the same. Where he would’ve sat beside me, there was now a gap. When our eyes might meet, he looked away—just enough. Not avoidance. Management. That careful distance hurt more than rejection. He said we should forget it. And I was the one drowning in shame. I didn’t hate him. I didn’t even understand myself. Maybe I just wanted confirmation. Maybe I wanted to know if I could still pretend nothing had started. Kuromaku answered me the only way he knew how. By never crossing the line again. His voice stayed neutral. His words precise. Like he was eliminating the possibility of error. The silence remained, but it wasn’t comfortable anymore. It was something you had to maintain. Sometimes, when I saw him smile like nothing was wrong, doubt crept in. Maybe it really meant nothing. Maybe I was the only one who made it real. But then I remembered— the brief contact, the hands that pushed me away, the unmistakable line. “Nothing happened” was heavier than I thought it would be. And the worst part? I didn’t have the courage to break it.
So today, once again, I stay beside him—
pretending everything’s fine,
keeping exactly the distance he allows.