Prologue
Tokyo swallows most people whole. You disappear into the noise, into the crowds pouring across Shibuya Scramble, into the neon haze that blurs every outline into anonymity. Faceless figures vanish the second they turn a corner.
Kai was different.
He stayed in my head long after he walked away, not as a memory, but as pressure. A presence. A parasite.
Back in high school, he just had that effect: he didn't shove at me like the other guys. He didn't need to. He watched. He teased, and I would bite back at his remarks, earning us the name "the arguing couple" from our peers. I hated him with a passion that can only be described as sharp and consuming, like a blade tracing the edges of every thought I had, leaving nothing untouched. And the way he watched felt like someone peeling the layers off your spine with their fingertips. After graduation, I thought Tokyo's chaos would swallow him like it did everyone else.
But when we ended up at the same university, the city was suddenly too small. One look and I knew: The stare hadn't changed. If anything, it had grown sharper. Like all that time apart only made him more certain. Inevitable.
April 2025—Tokyo
The day starts like any other, too early, fluorescent light seeping through the thin curtains of my apartment. Bunkyo has already begun humming, even in the quiet of my small bedroom: distant train brakes, the low drone of traffic, a bird shrieking somewhere far off. I run a hand through my hair, dark and stubborn, falling over my forehead despite my best attempts to control it. Hoodie on, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, I step into the corridor of the apartment complex and feel the city pressing in immediately as the elevator slogs down.
It was only the second week of the academic year. The university is about an hour's walk on foot from Sendagi, but I was too stubborn to take the train. Walking through the streets in the morning was its own kind of assault, but at least I could shut out the world with music. The smell of street vendors frying sweet bread and fish. Neon signs are already flickering in the morning haze, a warning that Tokyo never really slept. I kept my head down, scanning the path, feeling the familiar edge of isolation even among the crowd.
—
Aesthetics classes are the same; lecture halls buzzing with whispers, students tapping keys or scratching pens. I sat near the back, hood half up, notebook open but mostly empty. My own thoughts crowd the page: Kai. Always Kai. I haven't seen him since high school graduation, but the memory is sharp enough that even a passing shape in a crowd could make my chest tighten.
The cafeteria smells like ramen and burnt coffee, the students around me laughing a little too loudly, phones out, constantly scrolling. I try to eat slowly and sip my drink carefully, but my attention wanders. Every shadow, every dark-haired figure, made my pulse pick up until it settled only when I realised it wasn't him.
By mid-afternoon, the weight of the day is pressing down. The gym is my escape, a place where the rhythm of sweat and iron can drown out thoughts. I change quickly in the locker room, towel over my shoulder, sneakers squeaking lightly. I catch myself in the mirror: black T-shirt loose and baggy over lean arms, dark, messy hair plastered slightly from effort. Nothing perfect, but good enough. My eyes, a little tired, a little restless, tracking my reflection like I expect to see him there.
And there he is.
Kai.
Not moving, not pretending, just standing near the free weights, staring at me through the mirror. Shadows from the overhead lights fall across his sharp features, his black hair slightly tousled. His mismatched eyes, calculating, and somehow heavy enough to press against my chest without a word. My pulse jumps, subtle, impossible to hide if you are paying attention, and I tore my gaze away, pretending to check my phone. But the air has already changed; the room isn't just the gym anymore.
He's so fucking annoying. Why does he stare at me like that?
I stare back at him because what else am I supposed to do? Just let him watch me? But he always wears a stupid smirk when I glare at him, as if that's the exact reaction he's been waiting for. I thought high school was the end of our stupid staring contest, but it seems like he's only just getting started.
He doesn't drop his gaze, even as he continues his workout, his eyes always seem to find mine, and it's enough to make me give up in a huff. Fine. I just won't use the gym anymore.
After the gym, the city shifts again. Rain has begun, soft at first, turning streets to mirrors under streetlights. My hoodie is damp, my backpack is heavy, and my shoes are slick on the wet pavement. The fog hugs the low buildings, muffling sound, and Tokyo feels smaller, somehow claustrophobic. The university library glows in the mist, pale and distant, a promise of solitude.
And there he is again.
By the bike racks, dark against the fog, waiting. Not distracted, not pretending. Waiting. His head lifts as I approach, not turned, lifts, as if he's been listening for my steps. My legs freeze, even as the city is moving around me: trains clattering in the distance, students hurrying past under umbrellas, neon signs smeared in rain. He doesn't need to move to claim space. He simply exists there, and the world tilts around him.
"You shake, Anri," he says softly. "You always did."
Nobody calls me that, not anymore. Something in my stomach sank. I know him. I have known him since high school. But the certainty in his voice, the calm in his presence, the way he says my actual name as if he owns it—hits differently. Not because I fear him, exactly. Because he said it like he'd been waiting to, and I hadn't realised it.
"Don't call me that here." I bite back. "I just want to forget about high school."
He steps closer, careful, deliberate. Heat radiates from him, but he doesn't touch me. My breath hitches, small tremors I thought I could hide, caught instantly by those calculating eyes. Then he turns, walking past me, shoulder brushing mine just enough to unbalance me.
"Goodnight, Ace."
Not a farewell. A claim. A warning. A beginning.
I stay in the mist, Tokyo humming faintly, the neon bleeding through fog, and realise: he hasn't returned to my life by chance. He has been waiting. Waiting for me. Waiting for this. Why me? I've seen him reduce people to tears with his coldness, break them at his will, while I just fight back. I know I'm different; he's not the first person to bully me for fun, and he probably won't be the last. Maybe I would prefer it if Kai would just push me to the ground and assert his power over me, get it over with—at least then he'd leave me alone. Seriously, why me? He could have anyone he wanted, overpower anyone, but instead, he watches as if I could even satisfy his need to humiliate me.
"I hate you," I mutter it low, more exhale than voice, once he's finally far enough that I shouldn't have to see his stupid face anymore. Yet he still glances back, like he has some sixth sense for when I'm pissed at him. His mismatched eyes lock on me, one cool, one burning, and that damn smirk stretches across his mouth like he's proud of himself.
I clench my phone in my pocket before taking it out, flicking through my playlists. Just shut the world out and get home. Repeating again in my head.
I play the song that sounds like someone finally giving up on being civil; a voice cracking under pressure until it turns into a snarl. She's talking about rules, society, the suffocating noise of people who don't get you.
But I'm not thinking about any of that. I'm thinking about Kai. That infuriatingly perfect face. Those mismatched eyes that always look like they're laughing at me. The way he exists, loudly, in every corner of my mind. By the time the chorus hits, the song's anger and mine are the same thing, twisting together until all I taste is the urge to drag him closer just so I can shut him the fuck up.
As I'm walking back to my apartment, it's just one long argument—with myself, with the pavement, with Kai's gaze burning in the back of my eyes.
My steps are way too fast; every cracked slab and uneven curb was just another excuse to curse under my breath. My pulse was still spiking from the gym and the way he looked at me like he owned the ground I was walking on.
A car swooshes past a puddle, barely missing me, but I still flip off the faceless driver as if it's going to make this day feel any less shitty. A group of students is laughing loudly enough for me to hear through my earphones; I yank my hood up as if it will shield me from anything that could irritate me.
By the time I reach my building, my jaw aches from clenching.
Inside, the elevator is slow on purpose. I swear it is. I stare at the closed doors and catch my reflection glowering back at me in the metal; my hair stuck to my forehead, hoodie damp at the collar, my eyes still burning with the kind of anger that has nowhere to run.
The second I step into my apartment, everything hits at once. The silence. The leftover heat from my own irritation. The echo of that damn look Kai gave me.
I throw my bag on the floor and lean both hands on the counter, head hanging. My breaths escape in uneven bursts.
Why him?
Why always him?
I strip out of my hoodie and toss it towards a chair, miss, and slouch onto the edge of my bed. I just sit there, elbows sinking into my thighs as I press my fingers to my temple. Every time I close my eyes, there he is: towering over me at the gym, watching me like he'd been waiting for me to notice.
And I hate that. I hate how my stomach flips. I hate how he reads me like I'm a book he's memorised. I hate how one look from him ruins my whole night.
Most of all, I hate that I can feel the ghost of his attention on my skin, even here—behind a locked door, alone.
I drag my palms across my face and groan into the dark. "God, Kai...just get out of my head!"
But he doesn't.
I've tried.