The sun was merciless over Osu, hanging heavy and bright, its heat rippling off concrete and making the air shimmer like it was just as annoyed with the world as Katsuki was. He'd ditched the tie twenty minutes ago. The blazer even earlier. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, collar undone, as much concession to the weather as he would allow. Still, the back of his neck felt damp, and he hated the feeling of sweat trickling beneath a linen shirt.
They stood in front of the apartment door, squinting up at the number like it might rearrange itself into something more cooperative.
Kai's voice was light, almost bored. "Are you sure we're at the right place?"
"I drove Hana here once," Katsuki replied, his tone clipped. He didn't elaborate. He never did. Kai didn't need the details, and Katsuki didn't feel like explaining why he remembered the exact route, the way the building's concrete looked slightly darker than the others on the block, the shade of the hydrangeas spilling from the balcony two floors down. The ridiculous Hello Kitty sticker on the mailbox.
Kai turned to him with that insufferably knowing smile, the one that said he absolutely clocked the implications but was too polite—or too entertained—to say anything about it.
Katsuki ignored it, knocked twice.
A voice came, muffled but clearly not Hana's.
"Who's that?"
"Hasegawa and Sato," he called, already regretting this.
The lock clicked, and the door creaked open to a gust of artificially cooled air and a girl who looked like she belonged in a pop-up art gallery or some vintage indie film where nothing made sense but everyone was unreasonably attractive.
Pink floral dress, cinched at the waist with a ribbon that matched the clip in her hair. Big brown eyes lined with glitter. Cheeks sun-kissed and freckled. Her curls were pulled into some half-up style that looked like it had been done in a rush but still made her look like she should be skipping down a cobblestone street with a gelato.
Kai's brain short-circuited in real time. His trademark smirk slipped. For a terrifying half-second, he looked human.
"Uh—" he started, voice an octave higher than usual, "we're looking for Hana. Do we have the right apartment?"
The girl smiled. And Kai—charming, cold-blooded Kai—looked like he might drop to one knee just to see her smile again.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. Fucking predictable.
Her gaze flicked between them with the kind of curiosity that didn't feel invasive—just bright, sharp, and annoyingly intuitive. She leaned against the doorframe like she already knew how this scene would play out. Her dress swayed slightly in the breeze from inside.
"Let me guess," she said, pointing with a spark in her eyes. "You're Sato."
Kai laughed, recovering some of his balance. "What gave us away?"
"And you," she added, turning to Katsuki with a considering tilt of her head, "have a resting scowl face, so you must be Hasegawa."
"Charming," Katsuki muttered, which only made her grin.
"Hana said you had that charming energy I should be careful of," she said to Kai, "and you—well, she didn't have to say anything. The scowl speaks for itself."
She stepped aside to let them in, and Katsuki followed without a word. He didn't need to say what he was thinking.
-----
The apartment was deceptively spacious—at first glance. Katsuki's eyes swept over the white walls, the low-profile furniture, the carefully placed houseplants that looked suspiciously like they had been bought in a single panicked IKEA run. The kind of aesthetic that tried very hard to appear effortless. Pinterest-perfect, with its minimalist shelves and warm wood accents and one strategically draped linen throw.
But he knew Hana.
This wasn't her doing.
She was messier than this. Not careless—there was a difference—but chaotic in that way only people with too many thoughts and not enough bandwidth could be. She didn't color-code her books. She didn't stack her mugs with the handles facing the same way. She once used a shoebox lid as a coaster and called it "repurposing."
No, this was this woman's curation. The control behind the chaos. Hana had just existed here, squeezed into the negative space like a sticky note in a planner that wasn't hers.
The couch was small—too small, Katsuki realized as he and Kai both attempted to sit on it, all limbs and shoulders and mutual unspoken masculine annoyance. Their knees nearly touched. Kai shifted slightly, trying not to sprawl. Katsuki stayed rigid, arms crossed.
Yuna sat cross-legged in the nearby chair, bright and breezy.
"So what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. "Name's Yuna, by the way."
Kai cleared his throat, finally regaining some of his usual polish. "We're here to hire Hana back."
Her brows climbed higher. "Does she even want it?"
Silence.
The kind that wasn't uncomfortable—just deeply telling.
Yuna let it stretch, then leaned back, clearly amused. "Too bad she's not here."
Katsuki narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
She shrugged, like it wasn't something that should be personally offensive. "She moved back to Akita. For good. I'm actually looking for a new housemate."
The words landed with a dull thud in his chest.
For good.
He stood. Controlled. Mechanical. Like his body moved on instinct while the rest of him lagged behind, still processing the words as if they'd been said in another language.
He bowed, stiff and formal. "Thank you for your time."
He didn't wait for Kai. Just walked out, every step measured. Calculated. Like maybe if he moved precisely enough, the rest of the world would stop spinning out from under him.
Kai followed after a pause, hands shoved in his pockets.
Behind them, the door shut with a soft click.
Yuna stared at it for a beat, lips twitching, and sighed.
"Men."
-----
A few hours later, Yuna sat cross-legged on the couch, a mug of yuzu tea cradled between both hands and her favorite lo-fi playlist humming softly in the background. The air smelled like citrus and steamed rice—residual from her lazy afternoon attempt at meal prep that had somehow devolved into reorganizing the spice rack. Again.
The knock came just as she was deciding whether or not to microwave a third mochi.
She padded barefoot to the door, the floor cool under her toes, and peeked through the peephole. Her brows lifted.
Kai.
Freshly showered, judging by the damp sheen still clinging to the tips of his dark hair, now brushed back like he hadn't spent all day lounging in smugness. New clothes, too—a soft charcoal T-shirt that clung a little too well to someone who clearly had no business knowing what tailoring looked like on casualwear, paired with dark jeans and confidence.
Yuna opened the door just enough to raise one skeptical brow.
"Forgotten something?" she asked, her voice sugar-light but laced with challenge.
Kai offered a smile that had probably undone women in six countries. "Just my dignity."
She didn't react.
He tried again. "Actually—I'd like to talk about Hana. Without Hasegawa in the room."
There it was. The bait. Smooth and deliberately vague, the kind of sentence that could mean anything—or absolutely nothing.
"And," he added with a paper bag lifted in offering, "I hope you like Chinese takeout."
Inside, her stomach traitorously perked up at the scent of chili oil and garlic. Outside, she narrowed her eyes, unimpressed.
"And why," she said, crossing her arms over her pastel tank top and leaning casually against the doorframe, "would I let you in? Hana said you're danger."
Kai let out a low laugh, the kind that curled like smoke. "Did she really say danger or was it something more subtle, like 'charmingly untrustworthy'?"
"She said," Yuna replied with the kind of deliberate slowness that made him suspicious he was being outmaneuvered, "you were the kind of man who could talk someone into walking off a cliff, and they'd thank you on the way down."
He gave a little bow, like it was a compliment.
Yuna watched him, eyes dancing but sharp underneath. He was handsome, sure—devastating, even—but he was also a walking complication wrapped in charm. The kind of man who knew his effect and wielded it like a blade dipped in honey. Still, there was something about the way he stood there now—unguarded, maybe even a little hopeful beneath the practiced polish—that made her fingers twitch against the doorknob.
She sighed. "If you're lying, I'm telling Hana you cried."
Kai's smile widened, teeth and all. "Only if you hold me while I do."
Yuna rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirked anyway. She opened the door fully and stepped aside.
"Shoes off," she said, because she wasn't completely reckless.
"As you command," Kai said smoothly, toeing off his sneakers like a well-trained golden retriever.
-----
Dinner had been surprisingly…normal.
Kai had expected something chaotic or overly curated, but the food was decent, the conversation better. Yuna was funny without trying to be, sharp in a way that revealed itself slowly—like a blade hidden inside a velvet ribbon.
He learned that she and Hana met at Todai, back when Yuna thought she wanted to be a lawyer and Hana still believed she had something to prove. Law school had been a mutual battlefield, but Yuna had dropped out before graduation, deciding somewhere between Civil Procedure and a panic attack that the courtroom wasn't where her voice belonged.
"Magazine editing," she said, waving her chopsticks. "Fewer dead eyes. Better shoes."
Her family was from Nagoya but had moved out to Shirakawa-go a few years ago, chasing snow and serenity. Yuna had stayed, though—independent to the bone. And when Hana graduated, she'd moved in with her.
Kai listened, fascinated.
It was bold, defying all the checkboxes they'd been raised with. No high-status marriage. No steady firm job. No constant need to prove something to people who wouldn't blink either way.
Barbie energy, his ass.
It made sense now—why she and Hana worked. Under all that pink and warmth was a mind that didn't miss anything.
They were on the couch again, tea in hand, plates cleared, music a soft murmur from her phone docked by the window. The air had shifted. Still warm, still light—but quieter now. Slower. Like the night was holding its breath.
Kai glanced at her, then said casually, "No chance of Hana going back?"
Yuna grinned into her cup. "Oh, she'll come back. She just went to Akita to reset."
"But…"
"Your friend is too obvious." She set her tea down, eyes dancing. "He's very easy to read. I just wanted to see what he'd do if I told him Hana wasn't coming back." She shrugged. "He failed."
Kai laughed, shaking his head. "If I tell you Katsuki's on his way to Akita as we speak?"
Yuna sat up straighter. "No way."
He lifted his phone and read aloud: "I'll be working remotely for a few days. Hold the fort." He glanced at her. "We've known each other over a decade. I'm confident he's in motion."
Yuna exhaled slowly, like a laugh lived just behind her teeth. "Well," she murmured, "I hope he comes back in one piece."
Kai sipped his tea, trying not to picture the wreckage. "Unlikely."
A quiet settled. Not awkward. Just…full.
Eventually, Kai cleared his throat. "I should get going."
"Yeah," Yuna said, making no move to stand.
"Yeah," he echoed, also unmoving.
The silence stretched.
Then, Kai glanced at her, expression unreadable for once. "I want to make out with you so badly."
Yuna didn't even flinch. "What's stopping you then?"
Kai opened his mouth. Closed it. Then muttered, "Hana is going to kill me," and leaned in anyway.
Their mouths met with a suddenness that still felt inevitable. Yuna laughed against his lips—light and breathy—before sighing, her fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt as she pulled him closer.
His kiss was unhurried, controlled like everything else he did—but it deepened quickly, hands finding her waist, then her back, then sliding under the hem of her tank top with a practiced ease that should've annoyed her but instead made her melt into the cushions.
She murmured something against his jaw that made him grin—then he kissed the smile right off her face.
Yuna's knees shifted, curling around his hips, and Kai swore softly as he broke the kiss just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it blindly behind him.
She reached up to trace the line of his collarbone, fingers feather-light.
"Magazine editors," he breathed. "Dangerous."
Yuna just grinned, tugging him back down to her with a wicked little laugh.
The world blurred. The tea cooled. And the night faded out, warm and humming and full of electricity.