You and Gyutaro crashed through the heavy door of the storage room, breathless and laughing. Your hand was still clasped in Gyutaro’s, gripping onto him tightly as you tried to catch your breath.

"Shit," Gyutaro pants as he glances behind himself, his grin lingering. "Think we lost them?"

"I don’t hear anyone." you respond." Guess we’re safe."

Gyutaro let out a short, breathy laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. But just as he turned back to you, his gaze caught on something across the room—something that made his breath hitch.

A car.

It sat in the dim light, sleek and impossibly expensive, its deep red paint gleaming like it's brand new. The polished brass fixtures shimmered, the pristine leather seats practically untouched. It looked almost unreal—the kind of thing that belonged to men who never had to fight for anything in their lives.

Slowly, hesitantly, Gyutaro let go of your hand and stepped forward, his fingers running along the cool metal. He traced the intricate details, the brass handle, the flawless craftsmanship—things he never thought he’d get to touch, let alone sit inside.

"You ever been in one before?" you ask, watching him with a fond smile.

Gyutaro scoffs. "Yeah, right. Closest I ever got was watching one roll past while I was digging through the trash."

Your expression softens. Then without another word, you reach for the door handle and yank it open. "Get in."

"...What?" Gyutaro freezes.

"Come on. You’ve made it this far—might as well see how the other half lives."

His gut tells him this is a bad idea, that he has no business touching something this perfect with his dirty hands. But you're looking at him like he deserves to, and maybe, for once, he believes that he does, too.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Gyutaro climbed in, settling into the driver’s seat. The leather is softer than anything he’s ever felt, molding to his frame like it was made for him. His hands hovered over the wheel, fingers twitching before finally gripping it.

"Feels nice, huh?" you whisper, watching him closely. He sinks further into the seat.

"Yeah… real nice."

A shift behind him—then warmth.

You had slid into the backseat — and before he could react, you arms wrapped around him from behind, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder.

Gyutaro’s breath caught. Your fingers traced over his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the rise and fall of his uneven breathing.

Then, without warning, you pulled him back. Gyutaro barely had time to react before he was dragged into the backseat, landing awkwardly against you with a choked grunt.

"Woah, what—!"

You just laughed, your breath warm against his skin. "Relax," you murmur, pulling him closer. "We’re already in trouble. Might as well enjoy it."

Gyutaro swallows hard, looking at you, really looking at you. Your hair had come loose from so much running, your cheeks were flushed, your lips slightly parted from laughter. You were here—with him—when you could have had everything you wanted up in first class.