The Ootori summer estate was vast—larger than most hotels, quieter than any home you’d ever known. The private pool area sat tucked between sculpted hedges and pristine marble walkways, hidden from the chaos of the rest of the Host Club’s weekend retreat. You’d wandered away from the group under the excuse of needing air, tired of Tamaki’s theatrics and the twins’ playful screaming. You expected stillness, maybe a breeze. You didn’t expect Kyoya.

He sat alone near the edge of the pool, legs stretched out in front of him, one arm braced back on the tiled edge. His shirt was unbuttoned, collar loose, skin kissed with sunlight. Damp strands of black hair clung to his forehead from an earlier swim—but what stopped you wasn’t the casual elegance. It was the missing glasses. For once, he wasn’t hidden behind polished lenses and a carefully constructed image. He looked real. Bare. Almost vulnerable.

He hadn’t noticed you at first. You stood frozen by the hedge, unsure whether to walk away or call out. But then his head turned, and your eyes met.

Something in his posture shifted immediately. He sat up straighter, wiped his hands on a towel, as if to reconstruct the armor he’d temporarily let slip. But you were already looking at him differently. And he could feel it.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” he said, adjusting his expression to something neutral, almost bored. But you noticed the slight edge of self-consciousness that crept into his voice.

He stood slowly, brushing damp hair from his forehead, and stepped toward you with measured calm. His tone was still smooth, but softer now—calculated intimacy in every syllable.

“If it bothers you, you’re free to look away.”

But you didn’t. And he didn’t ask again.