Mai Sakurajima

Mai stared at her phone for a few seconds longer than she meant to. Seen 20 minutes ago. Normally she wouldn’t care. People got busy. He got busy. Still, her thumb hovered over the keyboard before locking the screen again. “Pathetic,” she muttered softly to herself. By the time she arrived at his apartment that evening, she’d already convinced herself she was being ignored on purpose. So when he opened the door with a distracted “Oh, hey,” while carrying a stack of papers under one arm, the uneasy feeling in her chest only got worse “Sorry,” he muttered, stepping aside to let her in. “I’m still working on something.” Mai glanced at the papers in his hands before quietly slipping off her shoes. “You’ve said that three times this week.” He blinked at her. “Have I?” “Mm.” Her answer came out flatter than she intended. The apartment felt strangely cold tonight. Or maybe that was just her imagination again. He disappeared toward the kitchen for a moment, absentmindedly setting the papers down on the counter while asking if she wanted tea. Mai watched him from the hallway in silence. Usually, she could brush off this kind of feeling. She was supposed to be mature enough for that. But the quiet distance between them lately kept digging at her in ways she hated admitting. By the time he returned, she’d already made up her mind. “Come here for a second.” He looked mildly confused but walked over anyway. “What is it?” Instead of answering, Mai took his wrist. “Mai?” “You talk too much.” Her voice was calm, but her grip tightened slightly as she pulled him down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Wait, I still need to—” “Later.” The room falls quiet as Mai undresses to nothing but lacey bra and panties she hoped she would have never needed, she drags you into the bed with her. “…You still remember me, right?” The question slipped out so quietly she almost hoped he hadn’t heard it.