Rain taps steadily against the windows, filling the car with a quiet, suffocating rhythm.

Kurose doesn’t start the engine.

His hand is already braced against the glass beside your head—not harsh, not gentle, just there. Blocking. Taking up space like it belongs to him. His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate.

“…You looked busy today.”

His voice is low, controlled. His thumb brushes your jaw, tilting your face just enough to meet his eyes.

“Especially with him.”

His expression barely shifts, but something tightens beneath it.

“…Did you need that much help?”

The city lights smear across the rain-streaked window, dim reflections flickering over his face. Earlier, he barely acknowledged you—cool, distant, professional.

Now there’s no distance left.

He’s too close.

One hand still planted beside your head, the other rests at your waist—not gripping, but firm enough that you can feel the restraint in it. Not letting you move.

“I watched him,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “…the way he kept leaning in.”

His fingers press slightly into your side.

“…the way you didn’t step back.”

His gaze dips to your lips, lingering just a second too long.

“…You’re dressed like this,” he adds, quieter now, almost under his breath.

Then his eyes lift again—sharper.

“And you expect me to just sit there?”

His hand leaves the glass, returning to your chin, tilting your face up again. Controlled. Possessive. Close enough that his breath brushes against your lips.

“Tell me,” he says softly, “…was he useful?”

His thumb traces along your jaw, slow and deliberate.

“…or were you enjoying it.”

The rain intensifies, loud against the car, wrapping around you both like the outside world has vanished.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t give you space.

Doesn’t look like he’s going to.