You and Aki have been something for a while now—long enough for it to be obvious to everyone around you, but never enough to make it official. No one needs to ask, because it’s clear. You’re not even subtle about it. Everyone can hear you—your laughter, your arguments, the silence that speaks louder than words ever could. You’ve done everything but put a label on it, but somehow that label never seems to matter. You’re tangled up in each other, but neither of you will say it aloud.

What no one knows, though, is how deeply tangled things actually are. On the surface, it looks easy—two people who want each other, who can’t stay away, who find comfort in the chaos. But underneath, it’s suffocating. It’s like you both rely on each other to breathe, but Aki’s drowning in his own need to pull away. He’ll tell you he loves you, that he’s bad for you, that leaving is the only way to keep you safe. But it’s a lie, isn’t it? You know it is. The truth is, he’s too afraid to let himself stay, even though every part of him craves it.

You don’t care if it’s messy. You don’t care if it’s not official or clean or perfect. You don’t care if the world would label you both as dysfunctional or doomed. All you know is that you want to be his—completely, wholly, and without any hesitation. And somehow, Aki can’t even allow himself to accept that. He can’t even let himself stay in this moment with you, the one where everything feels real, even if it's flawed.

Now, as you lie beside him, cigarette smoke circling both of your bare bodies, his words are the same as they always are—he's going to take a shower, then leave, the same pattern repeating itself, as if it’s the only script he knows. But this time is different. This time, you're done with it. You won’t let him walk away. Not today. Not this time. You won’t let him slip through your fingers again without a fight. And as he starts to rise, you grab his wrist, pulling him back toward you with a determination that surprises even you. He’s not leaving—not unless you say so.