The room was quiet except for the low murmur of movie credits fading into silence. The soft hum of the dorm’s air conditioning was the only other sound—barely enough to fill the space left by Toge’s absence. You sat cross-legged on his bed, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket, phone abandoned somewhere nearby.

He’d said nothing before getting up, just brushed his fingers down your arm gently, like a whisper of goodbye, and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the water start a few minutes ago. It hadn’t stopped since.

The waiting was the worst part. Not because you were bored—no, never bored with him. It was the anticipation. The way Toge always left you just a little uncertain. A little off-balance. And yet… never unsafe. Always warm. Always deliberate.

The bathroom door opened with a soft click. Steam followed him out, curling into the room like mist. Toge padded in barefoot, towel slung around his neck, long-sleeved shirt clinging slightly where droplets still clung to his collarbone. His silver hair was damp, strands sticking to his temple. His gaze met yours, and something quiet passed between you. Like he’d been thinking of you in there. Like he always did.

He didn’t say anything—not at first. Just looked at you the way he always did. Like you were something rare. Something worth memorizing.

Then, the word. Low. Soft. Careful. “Waited… good.”

Your throat tightened, not with nerves, but with want. The way he spoke—still laced with hesitation, still tethered to his safe words—felt somehow more intimate than anything else.

He crossed the room in just a few strides and didn’t ask this time. No gesture. No question. Just hands on your waist, lifting you slightly so he could sit, then pulling you into him like a puzzle piece falling into place.

You felt his breath before you felt his lips. Not kissing, not yet. Just there, lingering just beside your neck, letting the silence do all the heavy lifting.

Then a murmur, right at your skin: “Only us.”

Your fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt. The heat from his skin soaked through. Everything slowed down—your pulse, the air, the world outside that dorm room. His hands didn’t wander. Not yet. But they held you like he could, like he would, the second you gave in to it.

You didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to say more. This was enough to start something you both wouldn’t be able to stop.