Chapter Text
It was only recently that Makoto had taken to studying at a cafe just on the outskirts of the Tokyo University grounds, finding it difficult to stay focused when confined to her dorm room all day.
The walk gave her a chance to stretch her legs in between reviews for different classes, while the change of scenery offered some much-needed mental stimulation.
She had first visited the place at the recommendation of a friend. Haru tended to prefer tea, so for her to suggest somewhere based on their coffee meant it must have been special.
Though, the coffee offered there was somewhat on the pricey side, at least when compared to the drinks students could pick up from nearby convenience stores or vending machines. For that reason, despite being close to campus, most of its regulars were older; salarymen passing through in the morning; artsy types stopping by the trendy, local business.
Being amongst people outside of her age group wasn't an unusual position for Makoto to be in. For the better part of her high school years, she had often found herself in the company of teachers and upperclassmen more so than students her own age.
Still, the roasts were of much higher quality, more than worth the extra cost. It became something she would indulge in to help stay motivated during her studies.
Visiting the cafe was soon a dedicated part of Makoto’s routine. She would stop by in the early evening each Saturday after classes were over and look over her course notes from the past week. Her books and worn, Buchimaru pencil case were spread out across the booth opposite the entrance, as she basked in the café’s comfortable ambience.
It soon reached the point that the owner, Sakura-san, came to expect her presence, often midway through preparing her usual order by the time she stepped through the door.
Anyone close to Makoto would know it was the exact place they could find her.
That list, however, was quite short.
"Ah, Mako-chan! There you are!"
"Oku- Haru," Makoto caught herself.
Haru tended to get upset if she addressed her by her last name, feeling it was too formal and distant. Still, it took some adjusting to. There weren’t many people on campus who Makoto considered more than acquaintances.
"What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to see what you were up to," Haru said, taking her place at the opposite side of Makoto's usual booth. She smiled and lifted her hand in a wave as Boss began to prepare a drink for her behind the counter.
“I'm just looking over my notes, like always. You know that, Haru.”
“No, I meant this weekend. Do you have any plans for tomorrow? Perhaps we could go see a movie?”
Makoto paused, the butt of her pen pressing against her cheek.
It was a relatively quiet time at the University. Far enough into the new semester that most students had adjusted to their new schedules but weren't yet frazzled by the news of their impending first major assessments.
Makoto had been holding her place at the top of her classes comfortably. It seemed the perfect time for her to relax.
Not to mention, she had, secretly, been hoping to pick up some tickets for the latest Like a Yakuza film too. It would be nice to have some company.
“Sure, Haru," she answered eventually. "That sounds great.”
"Really?" Haru exclaimed, overjoyed. "I'm so glad. I worry about you sometimes, Mako-chan."
Makoto paused, her lips pursing, addled by that particular comment. Curious, she set her pen down and met Haru's gaze.
"Me? Why?"
"Well... you always work so hard. I don't want you to burn yourself out."
Makoto blinked, the statement standing out as odd to her.
Perhaps it was just a matter of perspective, but she didn’t feel she had worked any harder than say, her sister, who had and continued to work tirelessly in order to provide for both of them. Makoto just felt that she was doing her part to try to find her own way, live independently and ease that burden.
Maybe it was a product of the circumstances she grew up in, but to her, it just seemed normal.
“I appreciate the concern, Haru. But I'm fine, honestly. I know when I’m at my limit.”
"It's not just that,” Haru continued, insistent. “It’s important to get out. You don't seem to spend much time with our other classmates. I worry that they might have the wrong idea about you."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Haru hesitated as if carefully deciding her next words. "Some seem to have this impression that you're stuffy and cold, but I know that that isn’t true at all. I just wish more people would be able to get to know you properly."
Makoto sighed, reaching out to take another sip of her drink.
"How the rest of the student body feels about me isn’t really our concern-"
"Oh, Niijima-senpai! There you are!"
"Hmm?”
The distraction proved convenient for Makoto, who saw her conversation with Haru shifting more and more into one she didn’t feel like entertaining.
Normally, she wasn't fond of being disturbed when studying and, of all the people to be looking for her, Ann Takamaki, was one of the last Makoto would have expected. Frankly, it surprised her that she even knew to find her here.
Takamaki was a first-year student. Someone who caught a lot of attention with her flowing blonde hair and bright, blue eyes; both natural, a rarity in Japan, owing to her American heritage. She was a drama major with aspirations to one day star in action movies. Unfortunately, her grades for that class didn't exactly paint a bright future in the field for her.
She did well in English, though.
Outside of the rumours and gossip, which Makoto didn’t pay much mind to, she hadn’t really dealt with Takamaki much before. She was more familiar with her friends, Suzui and Sakamoto. Suzui was a promising prospect on the volleyball team and Sakamoto; though possessing an academic performance that left much to be desired; had earned his place in the University through track scholarships.
Makoto wondered what reason Takamaki could have for wanting to see her.
"Takamaki-san," Makoto greeted. "Did you need something?"
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you and Okumura-senpai,” Takamaki bowed stiffly.
“It’s fine, how can I help?”
Standing up straight, Takamaki smiled, a blinding gesture. From that and her overly apologetic demeanour, Makoto could sense there was a favour she wanted to ask.
"Well, I was just wondering if I might be able to hang some fliers on some of the bulletin boards around the dorm? I'm having a party next weekend."
Outside of her own classes, Makoto worked as a Resident Assistant for her Dorm. Normally, her older sister would object to such a thing, wanting Makoto to focus solely on studying but was deterred when Makoto pointed out that such duties would be worthwhile to include on her resume.
In actual fact, though, Makoto was confident enough in her credentials without the role but took it on because she enjoyed the independence and extra income it gave her.
"Well, the boards are supposed to be for announcements relating to the University-"
Before Makoto could finish, she heard Haru clearing her throat. Looking over, she levelled her with a disapproving stare. Makoto sighed, reading the insistence in her expression. It seemed Haru wanted her to show some leeway and not feed into the perceptions people had of her. She supposed she could make an exception.
"But… so long as there's space, it should be fine."
"Great!" Takamaki beamed with an ecstatic pump of her fist. "Thanks a lot, senpai! You two should come along. My parents are out of town, so it's going to be a lot of fun. Here."
Before either had the chance to respond, Takamaki had slipped them one of the fliers; printed on bright paper with bold lettering and a series of odd shapes dotting across the page; before turning to exit the cafe, a newfound spring in her step.
Makoto turned the sheet, squinting. Were those… masks? From over her shoulder, Haru was practically giddy with delight.
"Oh? A masquerade party? That does sound like fun!"
Raising an eyebrow, Makoto wondered what had sparked her interest so vividly. She hadn't thought too much of the invitation, assuming Takamaki had extended it merely out of politeness rather than a genuine interest in her company. Was Haru actually entertaining the thought of going?
Though she had to admit, the theme did catch her attention.
“Have you ever been to one before?”
Haru shook her head; unsurprising, to Makoto. It didn’t seem the sort of function she would have attended. Makoto could imagine the event’s held and attended by her father’s company had more of a formal, professional air. Given Haru's excitement, it sounded like the sort of party she had longed to attend instead.
“No," her friend answered. "But, from what I understand, you go in costume. The guest’s identities are kept secret behind their masks and you have to try and figure out who is who. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
Having always had a fondness for detective and mystery novels, Makoto's interest was piqued, somewhat. It could be interesting trying to uncover their peers' identities by observing small details like their body language and verbal tics.
Still, she wondered, was that enough to justify going?
As if sensing her uncertainty, Haru tried to sweeten the deal.
"I'm sure it could really help you too.”
“What makes you say that?”
"Well, if no one knows it’s you, they might be less standoff-ish and willing to talk. That way, they can get a better understanding of who you are. But, if you’re right and it doesn’t work out, then no one will be any the wiser.”
“I… I suppose you’re right there… But, aren’t these kinds of parties… Fancy? I don’t think I have any clothes that would be appropriate.”
“Don’t worry. I can take care of that,” Haru dismissed, her family well-off enough to comfortably cover the bill. “Besides, didn’t you ever like to dress up and play pretend when you were little? We’re still young. There’ll be plenty of time to worry about responsibility and our futures later. There’s nothing wrong with indulging every now and then.”
While Makoto appreciated the sentiment of Haru’s words, the reality had been much different for her.
It was true that, as a young girl, Makoto had enjoyed borrowing her father’s police cap and badge, pretending that she was apprehending wrongdoers. But, after losing him, both she and her sister had been forced to grow up much faster than other children their age.
Though, she realised it was similar for Haru, who had the legacy and responsibility of a conglomerate like Okumaru Foods constantly looming over her; a reminder of the future already forged for her.
Haru was conflicted. Driven by a desire to preserve and, in some cases, improve the reputation of her family name; harkening back to the small cafes her grandfather had run; but also having her own separate dreams and aspirations that she wanted to pursue, wanting to make the most of what little time and freedom she may have left.
The thought made Makoto sad.
It seemed morbid to say they’d bonded, but there was a solace they had been able to find together. In a way, she was grateful that it had brought them closer. They were two people faced with similar circumstances, who had coped and grown from them in different ways.
With that in mind, Makoto supposed one night wouldn’t hurt. Before the pressure of adulthood robbed it from them.
.
The throng of techno music and strobe lights flashing from the building didn't exactly set Makoto at ease as they approached Takamaki-san’s house. Despite the party having only just started, judging by the rambunctious voices carrying from inside the building, it was apparent that several of the guests were already intoxicated.
Makoto sighed. This was hardly her preferred idea of spending her free time. She'd much rather be curled up under a blanket in her dorm room, reading. If she had to go out, a movie, or even karaoke would be preferable.
Beside her, Haru offered an encouraging smile, enough to ease the urge to leave. Makoto was doing this as a favour to her. After she'd gone as far as to cover the cost of her dress, she could hardly refuse. No matter how much she wished otherwise.
Still, Makoto couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious, wearing something so much flashier than the jackets and blouses she typically favoured. Dark blue fabric flowed down to the floor, her leg peeking out through a slit that went all the way past her knee. Though it was a cool evening, Makoto’s bare arms made her feel almost naked. This, coupled with the lighter, transparent material around her neck, did not set her at ease.
Needless to say, the outfit wasn’t very practical. Her eyes would deep every so often to ensure that the fabric hadn’t become caught underneath her feet, afraid that she would end up tripping.
That’s without even mentioning the silver high-heels, shoes that Makoto had spent much of the week trying to adjust to. Even now, she hovered closely to Haru’s side, the extra inches making her gait feel uneasy.
Thankfully, Haru had asked her driver to chauffeur them both to Takamaki san’s house that evening. Makoto didn’t think she’d be able to walk very far in these shoes. She was already dreading the end of the night, sensing that by then her feet would be killing her.
It wasn’t all bad, though. Makoto did like the mask that accompanied her dress. It was a sleek, silver design, in a shape similar to the visor on a motorcycle helmet.
She hadn’t remembered exactly when she mentioned the hobby to Haru, but it pleased her to know that she had remembered. That, even in the brief time they’d known each other, Haru had been able to add such a personal touch to the design.
Speaking of, Haru; by contrast; seemed to blend seamlessly with the party’s atmosphere. Looking prim and regal in her dress; bright pink and made of billowing, frilly fabric.
Makoto couldn’t help but feel out of place beside her. She imagined her friend had experience attending many formal events.
Still, she wasn't going to let that insecurity push her away. She would just have to stomach the next few hours.
As they stepped inside, Makoto was wowed by the sleek and modern design of the house. The entranceway was open-plan and spacious, allowing room for the party’s many guests to move around and mingle comfortably. Makoto had heard that Takamaki-san’s parents were successful names in the fashion industry, often travelling overseas for shows. With that in mind, the extravagant decor made much more sense.
As they navigated the sea of unrecognizable party guests, they were able to find Takamaki-san quite easily. Even with her hair loose from its usual twin-tails; a red rose tucked just above her ear; there weren't many other blonde students on campus. Save for, of course, the boy beside her, Sakamoto-kun.
Makoto hesitated upon approaching, noticing that the two appeared to be in the middle of a rather heated exchange. However, it was Takamaki who caught them from the corner of her eye. The frustration in her expression softened, lips curling, pleasantly surprised.
"Niijima-senpai? Okumura-senpai? Is that you?”
Makoto bowed her head in greeting, noticing the sour pull in Sakamoto's face. Makoto wasn’t fazed, having always sensed that Sakamoto wasn't particularly fond of her.
It was odd, as she couldn't recall an instance where'd they even interacted for long or anything she'd done that could have upset him. She imagined it stemmed from him just having a dislike of authority in general.
To her surprise, Sakamoto-kun was dressed rather dapperly, sporting black pants, a vest with red accents and a grey button-up shirt. Though, there were small flairs to the ensemble, more reminiscent of his usual fashion; a chain trailing from one of the vest's buttons and a short yellow tie, with dark skulls printed across it.
He sneered, turning his gaze in the opposite direction as they approached, a gesture that prompted Takamaki to elbow him stiffly in the ribs, a warning hissing angrily from her lips. Her expression was sickly sweet once more as she looked back to Makoto, the shift almost unnerving.
“Wow, to be honest, I didn't actually expect you to turn up."
“Neither did I, honestly,” Makoto admitted.
"Well, I'm glad that you came. Your dresses both look so cute."
"Thank you. Though, it's all because of Haru. She picked them out."
“Really? That's so sweet, Okumura-senpai! It’s nice that even Niijima-senpai has someone like you."
Makoto winced. Though she was sure Takamaki-san hadn't meant anything untoward by her words, they still bothered her. ‘Even you?' What did that mean? Was Haru right? Did most people really think of her as a wet blanket?
The thought didn't linger for much longer, as Makoto was distracted by Takamaki-san's gaze scrutinizing her.
"Y'know, I've never really noticed before, but you've got a great figure. You should show it off more."
"Oh, um," Makoto muttered, unsure of how to respond. "Thank you."
“So, would you guys like something to drink?”
Makoto shook her head. Despite being one of the guests of legal drinking age, she was opting against part-taking. As much as the alcohol might be able to quell her nerves and loosen her up.
She didn't have a lot of experience with drinking, outside of using limited amounts for cooking, and didn't want to make a fool of herself, knowing her tolerance would be limited. Not to mention, she had concerns about the police being called and uncovering all these underaged students drinking.
If that were to happen, she wasn’t sure how she would explain her presence at such a party to her sister. Perhaps she would be lucky and it would be an officer on duty she knew? An old co-worker of her father’s? Maybe then they’d let them off with a slap on the wrist and promise not to tell Sae.
She could only hope.
“Oh well," Ann shrugged. "More for us then, I guess. Anyway, we’ll leave you two to it. Enjoy!”
.
Though the music carried clearly throughout the entire house, a space had been set up in the main entrance and living area with a dance floor. It was where most of the guests seemed to be flocking, swept away by the music.
As the night continued, several attendees appeared to be taking a closer interest in one another, seeking out prospective… company for the evening.
Makoto found it fascinating that, for many people, it appeared that having their identity concealed led to them letting their inhibitions run free, no longer having to worry about any consequences being traced back to them. That, in a way, by hiding who they were, you gained a much greater insight into their true nature.
Strangely though, the most notable case of this was perhaps Sakamoto and Takamaki, who lingered awfully close on the dancefloor, despite their earlier squabbling. Their disguises were arguably the least effective, with their distinctly bright hair. Yet, this didn’t keep Takamaki from shifting onto her tip-toes and, without any degree of subtlety, pushing her chest up against Sakamoto's as her tongue peeked out to caress the shell of his ear.
Other couples moved around them, seemingly without a care. Yet, as the scene grew progressively more salacious, Makoto's head whipped swiftly in the opposite direction, feeling as though she were intruding upon what should have been a private exchange. Though really, it should have fallen to the couple to temper their affections, knowing it wasn't appropriate.
In hindsight, Makoto wondered if perhaps she should have taken up their offer to share a drink if only to keep an eye on them.
It was surprising, though. She hadn't realised their relationship was... like that. Though they were rarely seen without one another, she hadn't thought them anything more than friends.
Either way, her desire to mingle amongst the other dancers had all but disappeared.
Noticing her discomfort, Haru decided to keep Makoto company as she sat by herself, occasionally sipping a drink.
While she appreciated her friend’s presence, Makoto worried that she was dragging her enjoyment of the evening down. That Haru would rather be up and about alongside the other party-goers. From the way her foot was tapping to the beat, it was obvious to Makoto that Haru wanted to indulge herself.
As if deciding to carefully broach the issue, Haru spoke up.
"Can you not dance, Mako-chan?"
Makoto shook her head.
Dancing wasn't really something she'd ever tried before. Her closest comparable hobby would perhaps be Aikido. They both involved precise footwork and control over one's body.
Yet, when it came to dancing, there were fundamental aspects Makoto couldn't quite click with. Moving in time with the music, working in tandem alongside a partner as opposed to facing off against them. It was another reason why she was reluctant to take to the dance floor. Even under the cover of darkness, hidden behind a disguise and amongst people who likely wouldn't remember much of the night, she still worried about embarrassing herself.
"What about you, Haru?" Makoto asked, curious.
She supposed she was interested in exactly what it was about this setting that appealed to Haru.
"Well, I trained in ballet when I was younger," Haru answered. "But, it has been a while. I’m not sure how much of it I even remember."
“Wouldn't you like to find out?”
Haru bit her lip, gaze lowering to her hands as she wrung them together.
Eventually, she nodded, tentatively. As much as she didn't want to abandon her friend, she did feel tempted. The setting and night’s unique atmosphere was drawing her in. Being dressed up, moving underneath the lights along to the music. It wasn't just fun but freeing too. Being among people her own age, enjoying herself. The dizzying, extreme heights of pleasure one experienced in their youth.
It was also a rare, fleeting chance to detach from her name and the weight and responsibility it carried; to not have to fret over how she carried herself, for once.
It didn't hurt that it seemed exactly the sort of thing both her father and former fiancé would disapprove of.
After a moment, Haru turned back to Makoto, who waved her off, not wanting to carry the guilt of depriving her friend of such joy.
As Haru wandered out onto the dancefloor, Makoto watched on. Pleased to see that Haru, at least, was finding enjoyment out of the evening. Though, she also made sure to keep a close eye on her, in case any men approached her and overstepped their boundaries. She would be there to step in.
Haru could easily fend for herself but, at times, was too docile and unwilling to do so.
Still, without Haru, Makoto couldn't help but feel awkward and unsuited to the rest of the party. That, even behind her mask, people would be able to sense it was her, just through how she carried herself.
The thought made her uncomfortable.
That distinction, however, appeared to also work in her favour, as she found herself being approached.
"Excuse me."
Makoto flinched, eyes snapping reflexively toward the unknown voice. She was startled, not having sensed the young man's presence. Noticing her reaction, he lifted his hands in a reassuring gesture, hoping to calm her.
"It's alright."
“C- can I help you?”
"Actually, I was just wondering if you might like to dance?"
Makoto blinked, gaze flickering to her left and then right, convinced that there was someone beside her she hadn't seen; someone who the request was actually directed at.
Yet, she found no one.
"You mean me?"
The man chuckled, a rich sound that woke tingles at the base of Makoto's spine.
“Of course. I saw you over here by yourself and couldn't help but feel as though you were missing out."
Makoto could only stare blankly, taken aback by how this man could approach a stranger in such a confident, nonchalant manner. There was an odd charm to it.
He was certainly difficult to miss, donning a vibrant, red suit with long coat-tails trailing behind him. His jacket was draped over a grey vest and white button-up shirt, a white cravat hanging around his neck and a handkerchief tucked neatly into his breast pocket. The ensemble made her think of the gentleman thieves in old, European novels.
With his face obscured, her senses zeroed in on any distinct feature she could discern about him. His mask was a stark white, with black accents, accentuating the piercing shade of grey that was his eyes, an unruly mass of dark curls covering his head.
He was tall, though her heels probably helped to close some of the difference between them. That thought, briefly, left Makoto pleased to be wearing them.
Though perhaps more so than his outfit, or his appearance, was the inexplicable charisma that radiated from him, one Makoto felt drawn toward. A roguish charm that seemed to match his costume.
Despite being a stranger, and the guarded attitude she had carried throughout much of the party, Makoto felt as though she could place her trust in him.
He was still watching her, expectantly. She realised she still hadn't given an answer to his request.
Flushing, Makoto's head dipped as she stumbled over her reply.
"I-I've never done it before though."
"It's fine,” he shrugged, non-plussed. “I can always lead you. What do you say?"
Her stomach twisting, Makoto felt an insecure part of herself suspecting that the gesture couldn't be sincere and was instead being done to make her look foolish.
Yet she couldn't bring herself to turn him down. Especially not when he was holding his hand out expectantly, a soft smile peeking out from beneath his mask, a glimmer of hope reflected in his dark eyes.
It was earnest. Cute, almost.
Swallowing, Makoto's palms were clammy with sweat when she reached out to take his. Yet, she was calmed by the cool caress of his skin. His grasp was strong and confident as it surrounded her, gently guiding her the rest of the way.
As they made it to the dance floor, he positioned her hand over his arm, while his own settled at the small of her back. Makoto shuddered, the fabric of her dress putting little between her bare flesh and the pad of his gloved hand.
She was unsteady on her feet initially. At times, almost tripping over herself. Yet his hold on her remained firm, helping her keep balance.
Makoto’s head ducked, and she muttered soft apologies any time she accidentally stood on his toes. She may not have been experienced at dancing but wasn't usually so clumsy, something she attributed to nerves.
Thankfully, her partner was patient, that fond chuckle vibrating from the back of his throat. The sound tempted Makoto, almost, to slip up again, if only to hear it once more.
Perhaps that was what she was so taken by, the fact that he would be so accepting of and helpful to her, even when she seemed hopeless. That he had extended such kindness, so selflessly. It was the same thing she had appreciated about Haru when they first met.
When she so often felt under pressure to achieve, shamed for falling even slightly short of that mark, he allowed her to fail and steered her gently in the right direction.
Makoto felt herself entranced by the confidence and fluidity with which he moved. Even to her, his talent was obvious. It came through in how comfortably he guided her, silently through each step. Keeping each movement simple and slow enough for her to follow to a point where she felt almost competent.
Before Makoto knew it, she had managed to find a rhythm, shifting in time with the beat. Sadly, it seemed once she had finally grasped that feeling, the song was reaching its crescendo, fading into silence soon after.
In the void between tracks, she was grounded back by the overwhelming chatter around them as guests shuffled off to search for different dance partners or refills for their drinks. While some of the more closely entangled couples would wander off blindly to find an unoccupied room.
Those two, however, were left standing with each other.
It was only then that Makoto realised she still hadn’t let him go.
Gasping, she dragged her hands away, too self-conscious to catch the frown flashing almost imperceptibly across his lips at their separation.
"Sorry," Makoto's head lowered, shyly, again. "I enjoyed that. Thank you."
"The pleasure's all mine."
To her surprise, the man would file back off into the darkness as they parted, foregoing the option to choose a new dance partner.
All the while, Makoto stood frozen on the dance floor, as others moved around her seeking out their next potential romp.
.
Outside of that one, mysterious rendezvous, the evening proved uneventful for Makoto. The party atmosphere just wasn't conducive to getting to know anyone, at least not in any meaningful way. Certainly, there were plenty of people exchanging amorous touches, staring one another down lustfully, but you could barely make out the person beside you over the pounding bass and dozens of loud, competing voices.
The few Makoto had been able to speak tended to keep their conversations deliberately vague. Not wanting to reveal too much of themselves and expose their identity, leaning heavily into the theme of the night.
It probably also didn't help that she was distracted, thoughts drawn constantly back to the stranger she had danced with, unable to find him for the rest of the party. The only one, so far, she had managed to establish a connection with; something that penetrated the physical and self-imposed barriers between them. She couldn’t push down the thought that any of the brief interactions she had with others since shared always seemed lacking compared to it.
Makoto was curious, though, as to why he had chosen to share that moment with her over anyone else at the party and why she hadn't seen him anywhere since.
Recognising that it was futile and becoming all the more conscious of the throb beginning to build in her heels, Makoto had caught Haru’s attention, asking if they could leave. She had kept her word, sticking around long enough to give the party a chance.
Though noticeably disappointed, Haru didn’t press the issue, conceding that Makoto had held up her end of the bargain. She excused herself to use the bathroom, before calling her driver.
In the meantime, Makoto was left to wait out on Takamaki’s front porch for their ride home. It felt a bit rude to leave without first bidding the host farewell, but Makoto suspected she had already retired for the evening. Given the manner she had last seen her in, it didn't seem appropriate to seek her out.
She would have to thank her for the invitation at another time.
Makoto sighed as she stepped outside, enjoying how the cool evening breeze felt over the bare patches of her skin. She hadn’t realised how warm in had been in that house, underneath the lights and crowded among so many people.
She was looking forward to getting back and taking a bath to wipe the sweat away from her body. First and foremost, though, she wanted to get out of these uncomfortable high heels.
Sinking to her knees, Makoto slipped her fingers underneath the collar of her shoe, trying to peel it off. She struggled, feeling as though they were painted onto the skin, worried that her feet had perhaps swollen up. Gritting her teeth, she loosened the tie around her ankle, before trying again.
“Are you alright?”
Makoto could barely stifle the scream that threatened to break from her throat, as the masked man emerged from a dark corner of the porch.
He certainly had a knack for sneaking up on her. It didn’t help that she wasn’t at her most… comfortable in the dark.
Hovering over her, his expression furrowed with concern; likely having noticed the pained look on her face.
Makoto sighed, feeling her heart rate steady at the familiar presence. Still, her eyes dipped, embarrassed. It wasn't exactly the most flattering position to be caught in.
“I’m fine, just… having some trouble with these.”
Kneeling beside her, she spotted his eyebrows knitting in confusion before his gaze settled on her shoes. Resting his thumb and pointer finger against his chin, he carefully studied her feet. Makoto flushed.
He wasn’t thinking of... was he?
“May I...?”
Not trusting her mind to form a coherent thought, Makoto simply nodded.
Taking her by the forearm, he guided her gingerly over to a bench by the front door, allowing her to take the weight of her feet. Gratefully, Makoto accepted the offer, exhaling and taking a moment to stretch out the kinks in her legs.
Gently, his hand caught her heel, angling her foot toward him as he carefully worked the shoe off.
As it was pulled away, Makoto hissed, quickly wiggling her bare toes, relieved as she felt the circulation flowing back to them. It was a blissful sensation, enough so to wake a sigh of contentment to, involuntarily, from her.
Though, Makoto froze as the sound registered in her own ears, her earlier joy replaced by a feeling of mortification at the noise she had made.
Beside her, the man’s smile brightened as if to placate her. Though, it only served to fluster Makoto more, who turned away, thankful for her mask as she felt a heat rising up to her ears.
This is ridiculous, she thought. Like something out of a fairy tale. A suave, handsome gentleman sweeping her off her feet at the party. Though, perhaps even more ridiculous, Makoto realised with a flush, was that she thought of him as handsome, despite not being able to make out much of his face.
This wasn’t like her at all. She’d never been the type to gush over boys. What was it about this mysterious stranger that had captured her attention so effortlessly? Was it just the party? The product of being in such an overwhelming and strange situation that had her frazzled? She couldn’t tell.
Perhaps once she had left, she would be able to find her bearings again.
As if conscious of her thoughts, the man leant in closer, a playful grin lighting up his visible features.
“Feeling any better now?”
“Yes,” Makoto coughed, non-discreetly. “Thank you."
To her surprise, though, after she had reassured the man, he continued to stay with her on the porch, turning his attention away to gaze off wistfully into the distance.
It was strange. He didn’t appear to have anything more to say, content instead to enjoy the peaceful evening scenery. Makoto had to admit, it was refreshing. Takamaki's family home was outside of the city's central districts, not smothered by the congestion and noise. It was the kind of serenity and simplistic beauty that was, at times, lost in Tokyo; tucked away in parks or temples, she did not always have the chance to visit.
Still, she didn’t think this was his actual reason for sticking around.
"You don’t have to keep me company if you don’t want to,” Makoto said, eventually. “I’ll be fine by myself.”
“It’s no trouble," he shrugged. "I was here with some friends, but I think they snuck off somewhere by themselves. I didn’t really feel like playing third-wheel.”
“Oh. I see.”
After having hoped to meet him again for much of the evening, when finally faced with the chance of a proper conversation, Makoto found herself unsure of where to steer it.
She didn't want to fall into the same, tired traps of discussing the weather or their classes. It didn't seem fitting after the rather spontaneous fashion they’d met in. Besides, it would be rather presumptuous to bring up University when she didn’t even know if he was a student.
Before she could ask, Makoto felt a chill wrack her shoulders. The cool breeze that had comforted her earlier had shifted into a frigid cold. She shivered, arms wrapping around herself.
Lifting a brow, concerned, her companion slipped the jacket from his shoulders, draping it over her own without a word.
Makoto blinked. Gaze lowering, she caught the bright fabric surrounding her, piecing together what he had done.
“O- oh, uh. Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’m sure my friend’s car will be here any moment now.”
“Please, I insist.”
Makoto bit her lip. As badly as she wanted to refuse his offer, the jacket's insides were still coated with the warmth of his body, pulling her deeper. It reminded her of how it had felt to be in his arms, surrounded by the warmth and strength of his grasp. Imagining it was him instead guarding her against those cold lashes of wind, Makoto found herself pulling the fabric closer.
Still, it weighed on her that he might get cold himself and his suit was now missing a piece.
If it was at all comparable to the dress Haru had picked out for her, it couldn't have come cheap.
But he had been insistent and could take offence if she were to refuse the offer too adamantly.
“I’ll be sure to return it to you,” Makoto promised. "As soon as I can."
“I'm sure you will.”
His voice petered off again, almost churning a frustration within Makoto, who felt as though she had been carrying the brunt of the conversation. Despite being the one two approach her, in both instances, it proved difficult to get anything significant out of him.
Though she wasn’t the most sociable, conversations depended on the effort of all parties involved. The answers he offered were often vague and to the point, not giving Makoto much to work with.
Though, she wouldn’t have to bear through the awkward energy much longer, as Haru’s limousine approached; lights flashing as the driver spotted Makoto standing by the front door.
"Oh. Well, this is my ride,” Makoto said.
She was reluctant, initially, to admit to having arrived in such a lavish fashion, worried it may have negatively coloured his opinion of her.
If it did, he didn't express as much.
As Makoto returned to her feet, she felt the man sticking to her side.
Turning, she was struck by a flurry of things she wanted to express, overwhelming her. The need to thank him, to appear genuine and, most prevalently, express the strong desire she felt to see him again that she could not ignore.
Yet, with Haru's driver here, she knew it would be pointless to try and convey that all. It wasn’t possible. She had to settle on one thing.
“I-uh…" Makoto began. "Thank you again, for your help... and for the dance. I actually enjoyed myself."
"I’m glad to hear it."
Makoto’s teeth snagged against her lip, once more, reluctant to cut off the conversation, but knowing that there was little else left for her to say. Nothing, at least, she could bring herself to. So, she stood before him, mouth falling open uselessly.
Seeming in tune with her trepidation, he would take on the onus himself, catching his hand with one of her own. Puzzled, Makoto looked on, captivated. Unsure of what to expect from him.
To her surprise, his head dipped, before he lowered his lips against the back of her palm in a feather-light kiss.
"I hope to see you again."
It was with those enigmatic words that he departed. Crimson slinking away in the shadows once more.
.
The further she got from the party, the more Makoto became convinced it had been a mistake to go.
It wasn't because it had been a waste of time, or that she had failed to get closer to any of her fellow students; though both were certainly true. Her reason was that, ever since, there had been something off about her.
She hadn’t been able to rid her thoughts of the handsome stranger she had encountered that night. The man who had acted like a perfect gentleman.
She supposed, in that sense, it hadn’t been an entire failure then.
She had managed to make a connection with one person. Yet, it wasn’t a relationship she would be able to build on any further, as she wasn’t even sure who they were.
The appeal of the masquerade party had snagged Makoto. As she found herself curious about the young man’s identity
It was important, she reasoned. After all, she still had his coat in her possession.
Up to this point, it had been the only solid affirmation that the night had in fact been real and wasn't some kind of fever dream.
After he had so selflessly offered the coat to Makoto, it was only fair that she return it.
Yet she had no lead or means of how to do so. Not only had she not gotten his name, she didn't even have an alias or nickname to go off of.
Makoto shook her head. There was no point in wallowing over what she didn't know. She was going to have to make deductions based on what she did. What she had been able to place of his features didn’t match anyone she knew on Campus. She felt she would remember someone with such… unruly hair. Granted, the people Makoto dealt with only made up a small fraction of the University body, even with her RA duties. It was possible they just hadn’t met before.
Takamaki also hadn’t said if her party guests were only other students from Tokyo University or not. For all Makoto knew, he could’ve been a high school friend of Takamaki’s. Maybe even someone from her family.
Perhaps her only chance of ever seeing him again would be attending another party held by Takamaki. Or, at the very least, asking her about him. How the two knew each other.
While she normally wouldn’t break so willingly from her well-honed routine, Makoto felt the need to stop by Leblanc.
She needed it to focus, desperately.
If the promise of some well-brewed coffee was what it took for her to power through retaking her notes, that was what she would do.
However, what threw her for a loop, even more so was finding that Sakura-san, the shop’s owner and regular barista, was not the one behind the counter. Instead, the roasts were being brewed by a young man with dark, wavy hair and grey eyes accentuated by a pair of glasses.
They flickered up to hold her with the chime of the bell from above the door, an odd flutter rising in Makoto’s chest as his lips set into a devastatingly familiar smile.
"Welcome! What can I get for you today?"