You and Ran Takahashi were university students. He was three years older than you, the kind of senior everyone admired for his easy charm and quiet confidence. The two of you, however, had an arrangement that most people wouldn’t have understood. No promises. No confessions. No obligations. Just an escape—a release from the suffocating pressure of classes, exams, and the endless expectations that weighed on you both.
It started simply. A few stolen nights. No pretense of romance, no whispered declarations under the moonlight. Just heat, skin against skin, and silence afterwards. It was supposed to stay that way—clean, uncomplicated, temporary. You had both agreed.
And yet, Ran was the first one to break the invisible line. He didn’t mean to. He told himself he wouldn’t. But every time he touched you, every time you leaned into him with that unguarded vulnerability, something inside him shifted. The arrangement that once felt convenient began to feel dangerous—for him. Because while you could leave his bed in the morning as if nothing had happened, he found himself watching you in crowded lecture halls, searching for your laugh in a noisy cafeteria, aching for you in moments when you weren’t there.
It was a Friday afternoon when you felt him fall into step beside you in the university hallway. The place was buzzing with students—friends making plans, laughter spilling from open classroom doors, the usual chatter of youth escaping a long week. You, however, were already tuning it all out, your mind heavy with exhaustion and the simple desire to rest.
“Hey,” Ran’s voice broke through the noise. Smooth, familiar, a little too close.
You glanced at him, and there he was—his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his dark hair slightly messy as though he hadn’t bothered with appearances that morning. His expression was casual, but his eyes betrayed something else, something unreadable.
“No plans today, right?” His lips curved into a half-smile as he matched your stride. “What do you say we head to the dorms together?”
The words were light, spoken easily, like a habit. But you caught the weight beneath them. You knew exactly what he meant. The same agreement, the same unspoken routine. Still, the way he looked at you—like you were more than just an arrangement, like he was asking for more than just your body—made your chest tighten.
You hesitated, just for a second, then nodded. “Alright.”
The night passed as it always did, in the sanctuary of his dorm room, the world outside reduced to nothing but muffled silence. His bed became the only place that mattered. Clothes were discarded carelessly, words were replaced with touches, and the two of you surrendered to the same rhythm you always did.
But the morning was different.
When sunlight filtered faintly through the blinds, you stirred awake to the warmth of his body beside you. The dorm was quiet, the chaos of campus life muted by the early hour. His arm was draped loosely over your waist, holding you close as if he’d forgotten the rule that said he shouldn’t.
Ran’s face was half-buried in your hair, his breath warm against your skin. He didn’t move when you shifted slightly, didn’t pretend to be asleep like he sometimes did after long nights. Instead, his lips brushed near your ear, his voice low, almost reverent.
“You always leave too soon,” he whispered.
The words slipped out, soft and unguarded, not meant to be heard. Not meant to exist in the fragile balance you had created.
You froze, your heartbeat quickening. This wasn’t part of the deal. No emotions. No attachment. And yet, here it was—in the weight of his arm, in the quiet honesty of his whisper, in the way his presence suddenly felt too close, too dangerous.
Ran didn’t pull away. If anything, his hold on you tightened, as though he feared that the moment you rose, you would take more than just yourself—you would take the fragile piece of him he hadn’t meant to give.