She walked back to her room, closing the balcony door with a soft click, shutting out the chill of the evening. The quiet hum of the night was replaced by the faint creak of her bedsprings as she laid down, her eyes tracing invisible patterns across the ceiling.
Why is my life suddenly changing like this?
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
Why am I even here? What kind of responsibilities did my father hand over to Mr. Hanamitchi… and why Yuri?
The name echoed in her head, sharp and unsettling.
And then, suddenly, her stomach let out a loud, traitorous groan.
She blinked. "Oops… I forgot to have dinner today," she muttered to herself, rubbing her belly.
A thought sparked — Didn't I keep an extra sandwich from lunch? She scrambled to her bag, flinging notebooks and pens aside like a detective on a mission.
There it was — slightly squished, wrapped in crinkled foil. Victory. She unwrapped it and took a big bite.
Immediately, her eyes widened. The bread caught in her throat. She gasped, choked, coughed , and stumbled to her feet, beating her chest. "Stupid sandwich—!"
Panic kicking in, she threw open the door and bolted down the hall, half-coughing, half-running, mumbling "Water… kitchen… anything!"
She turned a corner blindly and crashed right into someone.
A strong hand caught her just before she hit the floor.
Its Yuri.
"You're choking on a sandwich at midnight?" Said Yuri
She blinked, confused, still gasping for air. "I—I forgot dinner…"
Yuri raised a single eyebrow, that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're unbelievable."
For a second, she almost thought Yuri was enjoying this.
Without another word, Yuri took her wrist — firm, confident — and turned on her heel.
Yuri took her to the kitchen and quietly poured her a glass of water.
She sat on a stool by the counter and gulped it down, the cool liquid finally easing her throat.
He didn't say anything.
No teasing, no smirk — just his usual calm, unreadable expression as he reached for the water jug.
She watched him walk past her, heading toward the fridge.
Something about his silence felt heavier than usual.
She hesitated, then called out, "Yuri?"
He paused, and turned around — a bit too quickly.
Smack!
The edge of the jug hit her shoulder, and the water — all of it — splashed straight onto her.
She stood there, drenched. Water dripped from her hair, her clothes stuck to her skin, and the sandwich situation felt like a distant memory now.
Yuri froze. "Sh*t—"
She gasped. "Yuri!!"
"I didn't see you there!" he said, half-shocked, half-guilty, trying not to laugh but clearly failing.
"You drenched me!"
"You snuck up behind me!"
"I called your name!"
They stared at each other in the middle of the quiet kitchen — her dripping, him wide-eyed, both trying not to burst out laughing.
This was the first time she had seen Yuri laugh — actually laugh. Not a smirk, not that sarcastic half-grin — but a real laugh that lit up his usually guarded face.
It caught her off guard. He looked… different like that.
But then, just as suddenly as it came, the laughter stopped.
His face slipped back into that calm, careful mask.
He looked away, setting the water jug on the counter.
"Miss," he said, voice even, "do you have any clothes to change into?"
She blinked,
Then narrowed her eyes. "Who picked me up from the hospital and brought me straight to his house, hmm?"
That caught him. His posture stiffened — just slightly — but enough.
He didn't answer right away.
So she leaned against the counter, arms folded. "Exactly. So whose fault is it I'm here, soaking wet, in a kitchen that doesn't feel like mine?"
Yuri looked at her, quiet for a beat.
"You were in danger," he said finally. "Your father made it clear. I was just following orders."
"And Yuri always follows orders?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
A flicker of something passed in his eyes. "Always," he said.
But his voice… didn't sound so certain.
Yuri's jaw tightened. He turned fully toward her, eyes cold now, that moment of laughter long gone.
"Shut up, Miss," he said, voice low and sharp. "Come with me to change your clothes… or I swear I'll throw you out of the house if you babble a little longer."
Her eyes widened, stunned by the sudden bite in his tone.
"What the hell—?"
"I'm not kidding," he cut in, his eyes locking with hers. "You're dripping all over the floor, talking like you own the place. You want to test how far I'll go?"
The room fell silent. Even the humming of the fridge felt louder.
She stared at him, heart pounding — not entirely from fear, but something else. Something electric.
Then she rolled her eyes, grabbed the towel tighter around her shoulders, and said, "Fine, Your Highness. Lead the way. But if you ever use that tone with me again—"
"I'll do worse," Yuri muttered under his breath, already walking.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Move."
She followed, still fuming but oddly amused, her wet footsteps echoing behind him.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought — this guy is absolutely insane… and I'm stuck in his house.
As she followed him down the dim hallway, dripping water and pride, Y/N couldn't help but glare at the back of his head.
This guy is absolutely, 1000% bipolar.
One second he's helping her, handing her water, laughing like an actual human being — and the next, he's threatening to throw her out for talking too much.
What is he? A bodyguard with emotional whiplash? A walking red flag? Or just someone who needs serious therapy and a nap?
She watched the way his shoulders tensed slightly as he walked, like he was always on alert. Always hiding something.
And he keeps calling me 'Miss' like I'm some antique vase he doesn't want to break but also doesn't want around.
Yuri stopped in front of a different door, opened it, and stepped into his room.
She raised an eyebrow. "This your room?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked over to a drawer, pulled out a folded set of clean pajamas — plain but clearly expensive — and turned around. Without a word, he tossed them at her.
She caught them with both hands, surprised. "Uh… thanks, Yuri."
He was already turning away, back to his usual quiet self.
She lingered for a second, waiting for some sarcastic comeback, or at least another glare. But he said nothing.
So she stepped out, clutching the clothes to her chest.
She reached her room, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it for a second. The house was quiet again. But something about it didn't feel cold anymore.
She held the pajamas up and whispered to herself, "Well… at least he has good taste."
YURI POV:
Back to balcony scene
"You'll see the last sun at that moment."
He stayed on the balcony, hands resting on the cold railing as the breeze swept past him.
She had already gone back to her room, closing the door behind her, but he remained there, staring into the night like it held answers.
So many thoughts… memories he tried to suppress… responsibilities he never asked for.
Finally, with a quiet exhale, he turned and walked back inside. The warmth of the house felt distant. Almost unreal.
Back in his room, he sat for a moment — but something tugged at him.
Water.
He got up and headed to the kitchen.
It was quiet. Still. The kind of stillness that made every footstep echo.
FLOP!
Something — someone — crashed into him so fast it knocked the wind out of his chest.
"What the—?"
And there she was —
A sandwich in one hand, coughing like she'd just swallowed a brick.
Of course.
I didn't even say anything. I just grabbed her wrist and pulled her with me toward the kitchen, fast. She looked like she was going to collapse right there. I poured her a glass of water and watched her gulp it down like it was the last drink on Earth.
She stopped coughing, finally.
Crisis averted.
I sighed and turned back to the fridge to refill the jug.
Then I heard it — her voice, soft behind me.
"Yuri."
I turned.
Too fast.
SMACK.
The edge of the jug slammed into her shoulder, and the water — all of it — splashed straight over her.
She stood there, drenched.
Frozen.
Eyes wide.
Shit.
"Yuri, what the fuck?!" she shouted, arms thrown up in disbelief.
"Why were you so close to me?!" I shot back, half-defensive, half-in-shock.
"You drenched me!"
"You snuck up behind me!"
"I called your name!"
We stared at each other in the middle of the quiet kitchen — her dripping wet, me holding an empty jug, both of us trying not to lose it.
Her lips twitched first.
Then I cracked — just a little — a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Then she snorted. And that was it.
Laughter spilled into the room like it didn't belong in either of us but came anyway.
And in that stupid, soaked moment…
I didn't feel so heavy anymore.
But then I remembered…
Why was I laughing like that?
It wasn't that funny. A soaked girl with a sandwich? Yeah, it was a scene — but something about it hit too light, too free, and that wasn't me.
My smile faded, the laugh cutting off mid-breath. I stared at her — still dripping, still trying to catch her breath — and something twisted in my chest.
I cleared my throat. "Do you… have clothes to change into?"
She looked at me, surprised for a second, then shrugged with that usual defiant tilt of her head. "Who picked me up from the hospital and brought me straight to his house, hmm?"
I flinched. Not visibly, but inside?
She wasn't wrong.
I turned away, grabbed a towel, wiped the counter like I was doing something useful, anything to avoid her eyes.
It's my fault.
No — my dad's fault.
He just told me to bring her. No explanation. No warning. Just a message through a private line: "She's not safe. Bring her home. Don't ask questions."
I didn't know she'd be living here.
I didn't know she'd be like this — chaotic, loud, stubborn… and somehow, already under my skin.
But none of that mattered. Not now.
I headed to my room, pulled a set of pajamas from my drawer, and tossed them at her without looking twice.
She caught them. "Thanks, Yuri," she said softly, the first time she sounded almost… gentle.
She walked off, and I didn't say anything.
Because suddenly, I wasn't sure if I was protecting her…
Or protecting myself from what she'd unravel if she stayed any longer.
"Yuri always follows orders?"
Her voice.
That question still rang in my head — louder than it should've.
I shut the door behind her, leaned back against it, and closed my eyes.
Damn it.
Why did that question bother me so much?
I know I can't reject my dad's orders.
I never could.
It's not about fear. It's not about respect, either — at least, not the kind most people think.
It's survival.
It wasn't just about orders.
It was a promise.
The last one I ever made to my mom before she leave the world
Author's note:
Hello dearssss… please support me love love ❤️
-moonqueen