Day 04 - April 04,2024
Right there - Then Gone
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I couldn't feel anything.
Not really.
Just the cold, empty hush of somewhere that shouldn't exist. I stood alone, barefoot in a landscape of soot and silence. Trees loomed like skeletal hands clawing at a sky stripped of stars. The moon was gone. The air, thick like ash and fog, clung to my lungs like drowning silk.
My limbs trembled, torn and bloodied, though I didn't remember pain. Just the chill. My skin was slashed—arms, shoulders, legs—a network of wounds etched like forgotten memories. But even as I touched them, there was… nothing.
Was I dreaming?
Or dead?
And then—
A sound.
Not quite a voice. Not quite a cry.
It slithered between the twisted trees, low and broken, something too human to ignore but too warped to recognize.
It begged.
It wept.
Help...
I wanted to run.
But my feet were frozen in place.
The voice grew louder. Sharper. Until it wasn't a plea anymore.
Just a command.
RUN.
---
BZZZZ. BZZZZ. BZZZZ.
The alarm shattered the dark.
I jolted awake, my body jerking like a puppet cut from strings. My chest heaved. The blanket tangled around me like I'd wrestled it all night. Then—
Thud.
I hit the floor.
Forehead to wood. Dignity, zero.
I groaned, tangled like a tragic burrito of sleep and stupidity. The kind of mess you couldn't even be mad at.
"…Was that a dream?"
I blinked, tried to breathe. My hands scrambled over my arms, legs, chest. No wounds. No blood. Just skin. Just me.
Alive.
Warm.
Whole.
I sat up and stared blankly at the room, still caught in the shadow of whatever that was. It didn't feel like a dream. Not entirely. It was too vivid. Too real. Like I'd stepped into someone else's nightmare and barely crawled out.
Then—
Bzzt.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I reached over, heart still unsettled—and smiled.
A message.
From her.
> Fujimoto Airi:
"Wake up, lazy head (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧"
One line.
Just one line, and the ice around my chest cracked, shattered, and melted into something warm.
It wasn't just words.
It was color. Rhythm. A whisper of her voice wrapped in mischief and kindness. Like the sun peeking through a storm cloud just for me.
She was real.
Last night happened. Her laugh still echoed in my mind. That soft glow in her eyes under the moonlight. The brush of her sleeve against mine.
A lullaby I didn't want to forget.
I pressed the phone to my chest and let myself feel it—the blush rising, the smile pulling uninvited.
Maybe I was still dreaming.
But if I was, I didn't want to wake up.
---
CRACKLE!
"OW—DAMMIT!"
The pan sizzled in protest as hot oil popped onto my wrist. I flailed like a startled cat, smacking the spatula out of pure instinct.
Reality bit back.
Hard.
"Note to self," I muttered, blowing on the burn. "Don't cook with your brain in La-La-Love Land."
Still… even pain couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
Her name was a melody now—Fujimoto Airi. Like something sacred. Like a song you never want to end.
---
By the time I arrived at the office, the pain had dulled into a faint tingle. I figured I could hide it.
I figured wrong.
"Oh no—what happened to you!?"
Her voice.
Concerned. Clear. Laced with that signature tenderness that made everything else fade into silence.
She stood by the breakroom counter, forgotten coffee in hand, eyes wide with worry. The morning sun framed her like something out of a commercial. Tousled hair. Smart-casual perfection. That quiet grace that made even standing still look like poetry.
I hid my wrist behind my back, smiling like a fool caught stealing.
"It's nothing. Just… burned myself a little during breakfast."
She frowned.
That frown could kill empires.
"You clumsy, clumsy man…"
Her footsteps closed the space between us. She set her cup aside.
"Come on," she said, voice firm yet impossibly soft. "Let me take care of it."
I blinked.
"Really, it's—"
"No arguments."
I followed.
Not because of the pain.
But because it was her.
---
She led me into the tiny nurse's station tucked behind HR—a place where paper cuts and office migraines go to die.
"Sit," she ordered, pulling out the first-aid kit with the calm precision of a battlefield medic.
I obeyed, heart pounding like a drumline.
She took my hand without hesitation, placed it gently on her lap, and began cleaning the wound.
The world stopped.
Her fingers worked with quiet expertise—cleansing, wrapping, soothing. Her touch was light, reverent. Every movement was thoughtful, like she was afraid to cause more harm.
And me?
I stared.
Watched the crease in her brow. The purse of her lips. The way her breath slowed when she focused.
It was intimate.
Too intimate.
My heart beat faster. Louder.
When she smoothed down the bandage and whispered, "All done," I looked up—and that was the mistake.
Her eyes met mine.
The world blurred.
And in that moment, the kiss was inevitable.
Not dramatic. Not desperate.
Just… natural.
I leaned forward.
Our foreheads brushed.
Our lips met.
Warm.
Electric.
The kind of kiss that doesn't ask permission—because it already belongs to you.
---
"Haruki-kun?"
I blinked.
Back to reality.
Airi was waving her hand gently in front of my face, her expression somewhere between concern and amusement.
"You okay? You spaced out again."
Right. The kiss…
It didn't happen.
Just a dream. A fantasy spun from the heat of the moment and the way she looked at me like she cared more than she should.
"Sorry," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "Just zoned out."
She giggled.
Not a mocking laugh.
A soft one.
Forgiving.
"Let's go. They'll start the briefing without us."
We walked side by side down the corridor, shoulders almost brushing. The hum of the office returned. Phones ringing. Keyboards clicking. Light spilling through the windows like morning gold.
When we reached her desk, she turned, gave a little wave.
I waved back.
And for a moment, the kiss I never had stayed with me.
Realer than any dream.
---
Back at my station, the office buzzed.
I didn't.
I couldn't.
My hand absentmindedly brushed the fabric of the bandage. The pain was gone—but something else remained.
Something warm.
Something dangerous.
Fujimoto Airi.
Her name wasn't just a name anymore.
It was a heartbeat.
A rhythm I couldn't ignore.
I shook my head. Tried to focus. Tried to type.
Didn't work.
I blushed. Swallowed. Shook myself again.
"You got this," I whispered.
You're here to prove yourself. Not daydream.
Focus.
Be the first rookie to land a project. The first.
And maybe, just maybe, she'll see me.
Not the klutz. Not the kid.
Me.
The guy who keeps trying. Who doesn't give up.
And when that day comes, I'll kneel.
Right there.
In front of her.
And I'll say it.
I love you.
---
A breath on my shoulder.
I froze.
"Daydreaming again, rook?"
Tanaka Hiroshi.
Devil. Friend. Both.
I jolted, nearly swallowed my own tongue.
He leaned over, grinning like the bastard he was.
"You should've seen your face."
I laughed, more embarrassed than annoyed.
"Yeah, yeah…"
He patted my back like a proud dad.
"Focus now. Fantasies later. Lunch break's sacred, you know."
I smiled.
Sat straighter.
Turned back to the screen.
Typed.
Because even if the kiss never happened, and even if the path ahead was long—
I'd work for it.
For her.
And maybe, someday, for us.