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Kouyou stares at her boss from above her crossed arms drowsily, slumped over the desk.
He's reading the report that she brought from her mission a while ago. A tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows (that she kind of wants to touch) signals that he's very focused and she shouldn't interrupt him if she doesn't want to be kicked out of the office.
The corner of her mouth quirks up in a small smile when she thinks about it. Would he really kick her out if he hasn’t done it yet? She barged in through the door a good half an hour ago with drops of dried blood still staining her kimono. Perhaps she was too tired to get cleaned up before submitting her report or she just wanted to see a certain jet-black haired man as soon as possible, although she would never reveal which one was true. Not even to herself.
After he finishes reading, Mori puts the paper on top of a stack of others with a sigh. Then, his violet eyes travel to her silhouette.
“Looks like you made a mess,” he comments with a hint of a teasing in his tone. “How rare of you.”
Kouyou glares at him from under her unusually rumpled red hair; it’s enough for him to chuckle and raise his hands up in defense.
“It was awful,” she twists her face in disgust. “I absolutely hate when blood gets all over the place. And my clothes, and…”
“And your face,” Mori finishes, reaching out to her cheek with a tissue, that she didn’t notice him taking, in hand. He wipes the dried drops of red liquid gently, brushing her hair out of the way first. “There. All clean.”
“Thank you,” Kouyou responds quietly, watching him throw away the tissue with a satisfied smile. She almost thinks it looks adorable, seeing him beam like a little kid. The thought itself makes her shiver a bit – is it appropriate to describe him with such words, even not aloud? “On my face too. It's gross.”
“Although I must admit that it's quite unsanitary,” he tilts his head to rest it on his palm, still looking straight at her. “It looks good on you.”
“Is that a compliment?” Kouyou frowns, raising her head up, mimicking his pose. The only thing that separates them right now is his desk – if it wasn't for it, their faces would be millimeters away from each other.
“Well, if you want to interpret it like that…” Mori shrugs with another smile, but her sharp glare quickly causes the playful grin to transform into another expression, one that is hard to decipher – exactly the way Kouyou likes. “Yes,” he admits with a sigh. “That was a compliment.”
Maybe there is a hint of a blush on his pale cheeks, but the concept seems so abstract that the woman just chuckles, trying to ignore the urge to figure out whether it is really true. She really shouldn’t wonder about such a thing – it’s definitely inappropriate, just as much as the fact that she can’t take her eyes off him for a good minute after hearing the confirmation.
“What is that?” she asks instead, opting for a smooth change of the topic that somehow will divert her thoughts as well. There is a picture frame, just across the corner of the desk at which Kouyou is seated. She had never noticed any items of such kind in his office before. In her opinion, Mori never was a particularly sentimental man.
“That's… a photo,” the man answers hesitantly. Kouyou almost snorts — she can clearly see what it is — but he looks a little embarrassed once again.
“You don't really put photos in your office, do you?” she frowns, tilting her head slightly.
“I rather like this one,” he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning into his chair. A knowing smirk appears on his lips and Kouyou feels something shift inside her chest. “Besides, I took it myself.”
“I never thought you would indulge in such… activities,” she teases, discreetly trying to slightly change her position so that she can see what is portrayed in the picture. Her first assumption is Elise — she wouldn’t be surprised at all if he just randomly decided to put photos of the girl all over the room or worse, the whole mafia building. On the other hand, she wonders why he couldn’t have done it much earlier, before she even got to know him.
Mori notices her sneaky attempt to glance at the image and quickly turns it away from her with one swift move and a hint of a smirk on his lips. Kouyou immediately straightens her posture, pretending to be very fascinated with the view behind the giant window in the office instead. The snow that gradually engulfs the view of Yokohama in the evening is what saves her, because the man turns his head in the direction as well.
After a moment of silently watching how the petals fall in circles, fluttering in midair, Mori gets up from his chair and wanders all the way to the window, just to stop in front of it with his hands behind his back. Kouyou forgets about her initial purpose to peek at the picture frame on his desk and eventually gets up from her seat as well, taking her place next to the man.
He’s only slightly taller than her, a couple of centimeters at best. Their shoulders are practically on the same level, she notices, but after the realization her eyes immediately wander to the view of the city.
“I haven’t seen this much snow in Yokohama for quite a long time,” she comments, to prevent her thoughts from further development. The snowfall intensifies with every minute and it is easy to predict that soon, they will be unable to watch anything more than a cold, white mess of the delicate snow petals.
“Me neither,” Mori says softly. There’s something in his expression, something that perhaps expresses attachment to the city; at least that’s how Kouyou interprets it, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “It always melts before you get to enjoy it properly,” the man sighs. The executive feels the air move when he turns his face to her; his violet irises focus on her while she tries to keep the flush from creeping up her cheeks.
“That’s a shame,” she responds quietly. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” he nods, not taking his eyes off her. “It truly is.”
Kouyou’s body moves on its own, easily taking advantage of the tiny height difference between them — her lips gently brush over his cheek in a tentative attempt, something that is meant to test his reaction, not actually express her personal urge. Mori doesn’t object, quite the contrary, a flash of a smirk appears on his face before the woman proceeds with a peck on the corner of his mouth.
“Are you scared of something?” he whispers teasingly into the space between their lips.
Perhaps it’s fortunate that the snowfall breaks into a snowstorm, at least on their level, because it means that they’re hidden from the outside world. Naturally, there’s no one that could really see what is happening on the top floor of the Port Mafia building, but the remoteness just adds to the feeling of inappropriateness that runs down Kouyou’s spine when she kisses her boss the way she wants, holding his chin in place. Mori is not indifferent to this act either; when she backs away to catch her breath for a second, he instantly reduces the distance between their faces, with something in his eyes that she tries to figure out for a moment before their lips collide roughly. It’s hard to distinguish whether it is longing or lust, but neither of the two seem far from her own emotions right now.
It takes a while for them to pull away breathlessly.
“Me? No, I’m not scared of anything,” Kouyou answers boldly, noticing a red smear of her own lipstick near his upper lip with satisfaction. Mori stares at her, a little puzzled, so she steps closer and wipes the smudge of his face with her sleeve. “There. All clean.”
“Thank you,” he sighs with a small smile and for a moment, everything feels right. There is a pleasant warmth inside Kouyou’s chest, because from her place in front of the window, she can see the picture frame on his desk with a photo of a red-haired woman in a pink kimono adorned with floral patterns, among falling cherry tree petals, umbrella in hand.