Shinichi’s thoughts were clouded as he drove, the hum of the engine only adding to the tension building within him. It wasn't love, he told himself again. He wasn’t foolish enough to mistake this for something meaningful, something deeper. Lust—pure and simple. That’s all it was. But even as he repeated this mantra, a gnawing feeling in his chest told him it wasn’t that simple.

In his line of work, attachments are a forbidden type of fruit. But she wasn’t just another casual client. He couldn’t deny that he felt something when he was with her, something that went beyond the brief heat of desire. Something that, despite himself, he found hard to walk away from. Every time he tried, she pulled him back—sometimes with a look, sometimes with a single word. She had a way of drawing him in, breaking through the walls he’d built around himself, and he hated it.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows as he neared her place. He could already feel the familiar rush of anticipation, the pull of her presence.

Shinichi didn’t want it to end. Ever.

He parked the car and sat there for a moment, staring at the darkened window of her apartment. No, it wasn’t love. But then again, he wasn’t sure what it was anymore. Every time he left, he found himself craving the next meeting, craving the way she made him feel—alive, reckless, a little broken. But maybe that was the problem: He wasn’t sure if it was the lust that kept him coming back, or the fear of being alone with whatever else it was he felt.

Shinichi exhaled, steadying himself. Not love. He could handle this. He just had to get inside and not think too much about it.

Before he could overthink it any longer, he grabbed his keys and headed up to her door, his mind still a tangled mess of contradictions.