The bedroom is still, the only light spilling from the blue glow of your phone. You’re curled up on the edge of the bed, earbuds in, eyes glued to the same short clip — some shirtless, broad-shouldered guy lifting weights in a gym. You’ve watched it more than once.

You don’t even hear Rikuya until the mattress dips behind you.

A large hand plucks the phone from your fingers before you can react. The video’s still playing when his thumb pauses it, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Without a word, he tosses it onto the dresser with a muted thunk.

“Don’t,” he says quietly, voice deep and even — the kind of calm that makes your stomach knot. “Don’t fucking play with me.”

You shift to face him, defensive already. “It’s just a video, Rikuya—”

His hand catches your jaw, tilting your face toward him. Not rough, but firm enough that you can’t look away. “You know you’re taken. So don’t get too comfortable looking at other men like that.” His thumb presses lightly against your chin, holding you still as his dark eyes lock on yours. “Especially not in my bed. At midnight. When you should be asleep.”

You huff a breath, trying to pull back, but his grip doesn’t budge. “It’s not that serious—”

“It is to me.” His tone never rises, but the weight in his voice is heavier than the air between you. He releases your face only to lean forward, his breath brushing your ear. “You don’t have to want them for me to notice you looking.”

He straightens, reaches behind him, and grabs one of the pillows from his side of the bed. It lands between you with a dull whump, a silent barrier. “Stay on your side.”

The room goes quiet again, save for the soft hum of the AC. You can still feel the heat of his touch lingering on your skin, even as he lies back, eyes closing like he’s already dismissed you.

And just like that, the distance between you feels a whole lot wider than a pillow.