Sosuke Kitahara lifted his eyes to Mrs. Yuigahama. In that moment she looked even more devastating cheeks tinged pink, lashes damp, a soft fragrance in the room that might have been lingering wine on his tongue or simply her. The scent set his blood surging. A thought struck; he frowned.
"Ma'am… did the wine feel… off to you?"
She blinked. "Off? I couldn't tell tasted like ordinary wine. Kitahara, what what's wrong?"
"Those two thugs from earlier did either of them say anything about the wine?"
"No." Color rose to her face. "They made up some story to trick me, but nothing about wine."
"The wine…" Sosuke gave a strained smile. "You really didn't feel anything odd?"
She thought a beat. "The kick was stronger than I expected. I suppose… yes, something's off."
"If I'm not mistaken…" He crouched closer, lowering his voice. "Listen, and don't panic no shouting. It's late. We don't want to draw the dead."
She leaned in, unsuspecting. "What is it did it go bad?"
"Not spoiled. It's something I shouldn't have drunk." He exhaled. "They probably brought that bottle for… women they meant to prey on. Didn't you notice? Once it goes down, it heightens things."
At this distance her breath brushed his cheek. Whatever was in the wine magnified every detail the warmth of her skin, the scent at her throat. He knew the reaction wasn't entirely his own and still couldn't will it away.
He also knew she couldn't have known. She'd wanted a drink to steady herself after the day they'd had; he'd fetched the bottle without imagining anyone would doctor good Bordeaux in a world where liquor had become a luxury.
Only once his body answered like a struck match did the truth click.
Her eyes widened. "Kitahara, are you saying there's… that kind of additive?"
It seemed absurd that the men had been so prepared keeping back a bottle spiked for exactly this. And yet.
"I'm afraid so." He tried to will it down slow his breathing, settle his pulse but this wasn't poison he could purge with will or technique. He kept his gaze away from her face. If I look again, I'll do something I can't take back. "I'll get some cold water."
"Bring… bring me one, too."
She had felt the heat earlier and ignored it. Now that he'd named it, the flush inside blossomed part embarrassment, part fear. Afraid he might think she'd known and said nothing, she stammered, "I swear I didn't. I had no idea there was anything in it."
He never suspected otherwise. She had survived intact because she was careful, not careless. If she were the sort to go along, she wouldn't have risked everything to run.
He returned with two glasses. He drained his in one go; he propped her up gently, and she did the same.
Worry tugged at her. What if the wine wasn't just an aphrodisiac? What if there was worse mixed in and he paid the price because of her? The thought knotted her stomach. She regretted asking for a drink at all.
The wine worked on her too. Beneath the blanket her legs pressed tightly together, toes arched, as if small disciplines could hold the line. Sosuke, by contrast, felt heat climb like flame from his gut, a wild urge to push her back and take No. She was a decent woman. Newly bereaved. He would not become what he had just punished.
He didn't leave, though. Part of him calculated; part of him simply didn't want to walk out on her when the same fever was burning her up. The truth, if he looked it in the eye: what he felt for her was complicated. He'd told himself nothing could happen. After all, if Yui was alive, what face would her mother have to remarry and with a boy Yui's age besides?
But knowing they'd both drunk the same drug… shifted something. Along with the nerves, a flicker of hope. Desire, naked and unvarnished, admitted at last.
He had never claimed to be a saint. Saints don't last long in the ruins. In this second life he wanted, at minimum, to be honest with others, and with himself.
It explained why his gaze had been straying all evening. Eriri and girls like her carried a warm, newly grown charm; being with them felt sweet, almost domestic. Mrs. Yuigahama was something else entirely. Ripened grace. Every tilt of her head felt like gravity.
He drew a breath. The water blunted it for a heartbeat; the next, heat roared back. "Hell of a time to drink," he muttered, half to himself.
"I should have smashed the bottle," she said, angry with herself. "Thrown it out."
Her own skin burned; breath came quicker. Anxiety edged her voice. "Kitahara, will we be all right? Is there any way to… counteract it?"
She tugged unconsciously at her collar as she spoke. The robe wasn't cut high; with that small motion, the fabric tightened and the line beneath it rose and fell, unsettling as a mirage.
He looked away and swallowed. "We don't even know what exactly they used," he said evenly. "Best answer would be gastric lavage. We can't manage that here. What worries me is if something else is in it."
"Something else?"
"Some agents are harmless if you can clear them quickly. If not… they can do more damage than classic poisons. At worst, they burn out the mind."
His thoughts skated memories from his previous life. In certain private compounds there'd been a concoction interrogators used: once given, without "help" the victim simply failed. Don't let it be that, he thought, feeling the blaze in his belly lick higher.
She understood him. She wasn't naïve. To "clear" a drug like this, one needed a partner. There were only two people in the house.
The idea of how pressed heat and shame into her at once. She was not a frivolous woman. Even in a broken world she wanted to keep her own line. Plenty of men had coveted her; she'd turned them all away.
But the bottle had been her idea. He was in danger because of her. And this man had appeared, just when she had been ready to break, and hauled her back to shore. He'd put a weapon in her hand. His face earnest, beautiful hovered in her mind.
A whisper rose, traitorous and persuasive: Your marriage was already hollow. You gave him a daughter, kept his home for nearly twenty years. He's gone. No one could blame you now…
She bit her lip, cheeks aflame. She knew the heat was drug-brightening everything, that her rational mind was ebbing. Sosuke read the struggle on her face and cut it off, with kindness. "Forget it. If it's bad, it's bad. I won't take advantage of you."
All the more reason for guilt to tighten around her heart.
After a wavering pause, she leaned closer, voice barely air. "Kitahara… should I…?"
She knew what she was asking.
He turned his back. "I don't know," he said softly. "And you don't have to. Let's see if it eases. At least it's late; those men won't be returning. That's one trouble less."
His breath roughened. Even now he made no move toward her. For a young man in pain, restraint like that was rare.
Hesitation trembled into resolve. She edged nearer, face scarlet. "Kitahara… if if you need… I can help you." She couldn't bring herself to say the rest. The heat in her bones wanted more; pride would not let her ask for it.
"You can…?" He didn't turn.
She shook her head quickly, then nodded, words tripping. "Not that. I mean I can help you."
For all her poise, the age between them made the moment exquisitely awkward. She clutched the robe closed at her throat.
"Then I'll trouble you," he said with steady courtesy, though his pulse jumped. He stripped down to his shorts in a smooth motion.
She risked a glance and felt her breath catch at the clean lines of him. The color in her cheeks deepened. She exhaled softly, then, pressing a palm to his chest to keep him from sitting, whispered, "Listen. This is an accident. I'll help you but you have to use protection."
He frowned, honestly blank. "Protection?"
She flushed, swatted his arm. "If you don't, I won't."
"Where am I supposed to find a raincoat at this hour?" he muttered, helpless and a little amused.
"In the utility cupboard downstairs. Top drawer," she murmured, hiding her face.
He grunted. "All right. I'll get it." On impulse he stole a quick kiss against her cheek lightning-fast then slipped out the door.
"You incorrigible…" she breathed, half gasp, half laugh. She sat a while, then slid the platinum band from her left ring finger and cupped it in her palm. "So this is fate," she whispered. "Don't blame me. You broke our vows first. The day it all fell apart, you could have come home. You chose her."
A few minutes later he returned. The heavy curtains were already drawn; thin seams of night slid through to soften the room. She lay on her back in her robe, hair loosened across the pillow, the curve of her figure outlined beneath the cloth. Her hands lay pale against the coverlet slim, luminous, impossible to ignore.
At the door, Sosuke found himself… nervous. His heart thudded; his breath thickened. He swallowed, then crossed the room, climbed onto the mattress, and meeting the bright, complicated light in her eyes reached to gather her in.
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