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The poker table was set, the cards shuffled, and the stakes were higher than ever. Nakajima leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips as he tapped the deck against the green felt surface. Across from him, Kikuchi mirrored his expression, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“You’re stalling,” Kikuchi said, voice laced with amusement.
Nakajima raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Am I?” He slid a card toward Kikuchi. “Or are you just impatient?”
The air between them crackled. This wasn’t just a game. It never was.
They had been rivals for as long as either could remember—always neck-and-neck, pushing each other to their limits. Whether it was music, dance, or even trivial things like who could get the highest score at an arcade, neither backed down. This, however, was different. This was their Last Game, the one that would settle everything.
“Let’s make it interesting,” Kikuchi said, picking up the card. “Winner gets to make one demand. No questions asked.”
Nakajima chuckled, but there was an edge to his voice. “Confident, aren’t we?” He flicked his gaze over Kikuchi’s face, watching for any sign of hesitation. None.
“Always,” Kikuchi shot back.
They played. Hands moved swiftly, calculating, strategizing. Every glance, every movement—it all held meaning.
Nakajima could read Kikuchi like an open book, but tonight, there was something different. His rival’s usual cocky smirk had softened into something else. Something more dangerous. It unsettled him.
“What’s wrong?” Kikuchi’s voice was lower now, teasing. “Losing focus?”
Nakajima scoffed, willing his heartbeat to steady. “Hardly.”
But he was. Because the way Kikuchi’s fingers skimmed over his cards, the way his shirt clung to his frame under the dim casino lights, the way he licked his lips before making a move—it was all distracting. And Nakajima hated it.
Or maybe he didn’t.
Fate, fate, is all in this card.
They reached the final round. It was all or nothing now. Nakajima placed his last bet, eyes never leaving Kikuchi’s.
The moment stretched.
Then, Kikuchi smirked. “Checkmate.”
Nakajima’s stomach twisted as Kikuchi revealed his hand. A perfect play. He lost.
Silence hung between them.
Kikuchi leaned in, his breath warm against Nakajima’s cheek. “My demand,” he murmured, his voice nothing but a whisper. “Admit it.”
Nakajima swallowed hard. “Admit what?”
“That this—” Kikuchi gestured between them, their years of rivalry, their endless push and pull, the undeniable tension “—was never just a game.”
Nakajima didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because in that moment, as Kikuchi’s fingers brushed against his own, as their gazes locked, unblinking, unguarded—he knew.
The game had never been about winning or losing.
It had always been about them.
And it always would be.
Nakajima’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of Kikuchi’s words hanging between them like an unspoken truth.
“This was never just a game.”
He could pretend not to understand, could deflect with another cocky remark, but the way Kikuchi was looking at him—dark eyes sharp yet unreadable—made it impossible.
Still, Nakajima wasn’t the type to surrender easily.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, leaning back into his chair, forcing a smirk. “You won, Kikuchi. Congratulations. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
Before he could move, Kikuchi grabbed his wrist.
A jolt of electricity shot up Nakajima’s arm. He stiffened, eyes flicking down to where their skin met.
“Don’t run,” Kikuchi said, voice softer now, almost… hesitant.
It was rare, seeing Kikuchi like this—less of the cocky rival, more of something else. Something raw.
Nakajima swallowed, struggling to regain his composure. “I’m not running.”
“Then admit it,” Kikuchi pressed. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”
Nakajima’s breath caught.
For years, their rivalry had been the center of their world—pushing, challenging, always one step away from something more. He had told himself it was just competition, just a game.
But if that were true, then why did his pulse quicken whenever Kikuchi got too close? Why did he notice the way Kikuchi’s fingers twitched when he was nervous, or the way his voice softened when he wasn’t trying so hard to win?
Why did losing to Kikuchi tonight feel like something else entirely?
“I…” Nakajima hesitated.
Kikuchi’s grip on his wrist tightened for a fraction of a second, then loosened.
“…Forget it.”
Kikuchi let go, his expression unreadable once again. He stood up, pushing his chair back, ready to walk away.
Something inside Nakajima panicked.
Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Kikuchi’s shirt, pulling him back.
Kikuchi barely had time to react before Nakajima closed the distance between them.
It wasn’t a confession, it wasn't words—but the way Nakajima kissed him, desperate and unguarded, said everything he couldn’t.
Kikuchi inhaled sharply, startled, before melting into it, his hands moving to Nakajima’s waist. The kiss was a battle in itself—neither willing to give in, to let the other take control.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Kikuchi smirked.
“Took you long enough.”
Nakajima rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. “Shut up.”
Kikuchi chuckled, resting his forehead against Nakajima’s. “So… another round?”
Nakajima exhaled, shaking his head. “You really can’t let a game end, can you?”
Kikuchi’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles against Nakajima’s waist. “Not when the stakes are this good.”
Nakajima bit his lip, feeling his heart race all over again.
Maybe, just maybe, this was a game he didn’t mind losing.
Nakajima wasn’t sure what was more dangerous—the way Kikuchi kissed him like he was still trying to win, or the way Nakajima wanted to keep losing.
The tension between them had always been electric, but now that the unspoken had turned tangible, it was something else entirely. The casino lights flickered above them, but everything else faded into the background—just the two of them, standing too close, breathing the same air.
Kikuchi was still smirking. Of course he was.
Nakajima scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Wipe that look off your face.”
“Why?” Kikuchi tilted his head, feigning innocence. “I like seeing you flustered.”
Nakajima huffed, shoving at Kikuchi’s chest. “I’m not flustered.”
Kikuchi caught his wrist again, and this time, he didn’t let go. His grip was firm but not forceful, fingers warm against Nakajima’s skin. His expression softened, just a fraction, but Nakajima caught it.
“Then why are you still holding on?” Kikuchi asked, voice lower now, almost teasing.
Nakajima opened his mouth, but no answer came. Because Kikuchi was right—he hadn’t pulled away. And he didn’t want to.
He hated how easily Kikuchi read him. Hated how his rival-turned-something-more always knew exactly which buttons to push, which moves to anticipate.
But wasn’t that what made this game so thrilling?
Nakajima sighed, tilting his head slightly. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
Kikuchi grinned. “Not when it comes to you.”
The honesty in his voice sent a shiver down Nakajima’s spine. He looked away, feeling his pulse hammer against his ribs. This was new territory—one that had nothing to do with competition, nothing to do with winning or losing.
And for the first time in their endless rivalry, Nakajima had no strategy. No plan.
Kikuchi leaned in, close enough that Nakajima could feel his breath against his cheek. “So? What now?”
Nakajima swallowed. He could still play this off, turn this into another game, another battle of words. But something about the way Kikuchi was looking at him made it clear—this wasn’t something either of them wanted to gamble with.
So, instead of answering, Nakajima pulled him back in.
The second kiss was different. Less desperate, more deliberate. It wasn’t about proving a point, it wasn't about pushing or pulling. It was just them.
For the first time in their years of rivalry, silence stretched between them—not the sharp silence of competition, but something heavier, something neither of them could name.
Kikuchi’s lips were still tingling from Nakajima’s kiss, but he refused to be the one to break the moment. Instead, he watched, amused, as Nakajima pulled back, arms crossed, trying to mask whatever emotions were swirling behind those dark eyes.
“You’re thinking too much,” Kikuchi said, breaking the quiet.
Nakajima scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the weight of the situation. “I don’t think enough—that’s why I kissed you.”
Kikuchi grinned. “And here I thought you finally made a smart move.”
Nakajima shot him a glare, but there was no real fire behind it. If anything, there was something softer now, something he wasn’t quite ready to admit.
The tension between them had always been there—woven into every challenge, every fight for the upper hand. But now that the boundary had been crossed, now that they had seen each other without the mask of rivalry, there was no going back.
“Don’t think this changes anything,” Nakajima muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Kikuchi raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So what, we go back to pretending?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Kikuchi smirked, stepping closer. “Then what are you saying?”
Nakajima exhaled, tilting his head in mock contemplation. “I’m saying… we’ll see.”
Kikuchi chuckled. Classic Nakajima—always leaving things open-ended, always keeping the game alive. And if Kikuchi knew anything, it was that Nakajima loved the thrill of anticipation.
But so did he.
“Fine,” Kikuchi said, voice dropping slightly. “Then let’s make this interesting.”
Nakajima arched an eyebrow. “Another bet?”
Kikuchi nodded. “First one to say it loses.”
Nakajima blinked, then smirked, catching on immediately. “And by ‘it,’ you mean…?”
Kikuchi grinned. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Nakajima hummed, pretending to consider. “And what’s the prize for the winner?”
Kikuchi leaned in just enough to make Nakajima tense. “Whatever they want.”
Nakajima’s pulse skipped. But instead of stepping back, he let his smirk widen. “Game on.”
The challenge was set.
The game wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
The air between them crackled, charged with something far more dangerous than rivalry.
Nakajima had always prided himself on his ability to keep a poker face. No matter how intense the game, no matter how close Kikuchi got, he never let himself waver. But tonight? Tonight, he felt like he was already playing from behind.
The bet was simple: first one to confess loses.
And Nakajima never lost.
But Kikuchi had a way of making things difficult.
They left the casino together, their usual playful arguments filling the air. Kikuchi, of course, was insufferable—grinning, teasing, brushing just close enough to test Nakajima’s patience.
“Are you nervous?” Kikuchi asked as they walked down the neon-lit streets.
Nakajima scoffed. “Please. You’re the one who should be worried.”
“Oh?” Kikuchi turned to face him, walking backward with that same smug look that made Nakajima want to either punch him or kiss him again. Maybe both. “You think you can hold out longer than me?”
Nakajima smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I know I can.”
Kikuchi chuckled, but there was something in his eyes—something sharp, knowing. “We’ll see.”
And that was how it began.
Round One: The Subtle Attacks
The next day, Kikuchi was relentless.
During rehearsals, he found every excuse to be close—adjusting Nakajima’s mic pack, leaning in just a little too much when checking choreography. At one point, he whispered “You’re looking at me too much” in Nakajima’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
Nakajima, of course, refused to react. He smirked, crossing his arms. “You wish.”
Kikuchi just laughed.
But Nakajima wasn’t about to let Kikuchi have the upper hand.
That night, during an interview, Nakajima casually draped an arm around Kikuchi’s shoulders, pulling him in as he spoke. It wasn’t unusual, but he knew exactly what he was doing when he let his fingers brush against Kikuchi’s collarbone, just barely noticeable.
Kikuchi tensed for half a second—just enough for Nakajima to catch it.
Point for him.
Round Two: The Unspoken Words
By the third day, their little game had turned into something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
It was in the way Nakajima’s gaze lingered for a second too long. The way Kikuchi’s voice softened when he said his name. The way their fingers brushed when passing each other backstage, neither pulling away as quickly as they should.
The game wasn’t just about winning anymore.
It was about waiting.
Waiting for the moment one of them finally snapped.
Round Three: The Breaking Point
It happened after a late-night dance practice.
The others had gone home, leaving just the two of them in the dimly lit studio. Nakajima sat on the floor, catching his breath, while Kikuchi stood by the mirror, watching their reflections.
The silence between them was heavy.
Then, Kikuchi turned. “Nakajima.”
Nakajima looked up.
Kikuchi walked over, crouching down so they were at eye level. “How much longer are we gonna do this?”
Nakajima’s throat went dry. “Do what?”
Kikuchi exhaled sharply, like he couldn’t believe Nakajima was still playing dumb. “You know.” His voice was quieter now, his gaze intense. “This stupid bet. This—whatever this is.”
Nakajima held his breath.
Kikuchi reached out, fingers barely ghosting over Nakajima’s wrist. “You want me to say it first, don’t you?” His smirk was still there, but it was softer now. “You want to win.”
Nakajima swallowed, his pulse hammering.
He should have smirked. Should have thrown out another witty comeback. Should have kept playing.
But when Kikuchi leaned in—so close their noses almost brushed—Nakajima finally understood.
Winning didn’t matter. Not anymore.
Because if this was what losing felt like, he didn’t mind at all.
Nakajima had always been good at keeping his emotions in check, but Kikuchi was testing every last bit of his patience.
The bet had started as a game—a challenge, a way to see who would crack first. But now, with Kikuchi crouched in front of him, so close that Nakajima could count his eyelashes, the game didn’t feel like a game anymore.
Kikuchi’s fingers barely brushed Nakajima’s wrist, a touch so light it could have been an accident. But it wasn’t.
“Come on, Nakajima,” Kikuchi murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Just say it.”
Nakajima exhaled, forcing himself to smirk despite the way his chest tightened. “Nice try.”
Kikuchi clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Stubborn as ever.”
Nakajima chuckled, trying to ignore how warm his skin felt where Kikuchi had touched him. “You love that about me.”
Kikuchi stilled.
Nakajima realized his mistake a second too late.
The corner of Kikuchi’s lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. “Oh?” His voice was teasing, but there was something else in his gaze now. “Sounds like someone’s getting close to losing.”
Nakajima scoffed, standing up quickly, putting distance between them before he did something stupid—like grab Kikuchi’s collar and pull him back in.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. “I don’t lose.”
Kikuchi leaned back on his hands, watching him with amusement. “We’ll see.”
Round Four: Cracks in the Armor
The next few days were unbearable.
Kikuchi had always been annoying, but now? Now he was a menace.
He whispered things in Nakajima’s ear just to watch him tense. He stole Nakajima’s coffee and took a sip, smirking when Nakajima glared at him. He played with the rings on Nakajima’s fingers absentmindedly whenever they sat next to each other, as if touching him was the most natural thing in the world.
And the worst part? Nakajima was letting him.
But Nakajima wasn’t going down without a fight.
One night, during vocal practice, Nakajima decided to play dirty.
Kikuchi was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone when Nakajima sat beside him—closer than usual. He let their knees touch, then casually leaned over, resting his chin on Kikuchi’s shoulder as he looked at the screen.
Kikuchi’s breath hitched.
Nakajima smirked. “Something wrong?”
Kikuchi turned to look at him, and for the first time in days, he looked caught off guard. But the moment passed quickly, and that damn smirk was back.
“You think this is enough to make me lose?” Kikuchi murmured.
Nakajima tilted his head slightly, lips barely inches from Kikuchi’s jawline. “I think you’re close.”
Kikuchi swallowed, and Nakajima felt a rush of satisfaction.
Maybe, just maybe, he was winning.
But then Kikuchi moved.
In one smooth motion, he turned, closing the distance between them until their faces were only a breath apart.
Nakajima’s smirk faltered.
Kikuchi chuckled. “Your heart just skipped, didn’t it?”
Nakajima clenched his jaw, refusing to answer.
Kikuchi leaned in even more, whispering right against his lips. “Admit it, Nakajima.”
Nakajima could feel his own pulse pounding. He needed to move, needed to regain control. But he couldn’t.
Because suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to win anymore.
Nakajima’s mind was racing, but his body refused to move.
Kikuchi was too close. Too steady. Too confident.
For once, Nakajima didn’t have a move prepared.
His usual tactics—deflection, sarcasm, teasing—felt useless now that Kikuchi had turned the tables so effortlessly. The warmth of his breath ghosted against Nakajima’s lips, and for a brief, dangerous moment, Nakajima thought—if I just lean in…
But no. He refused to be the one to break first.
So, instead, he smirked.
“Nice try,” Nakajima murmured, his voice smooth despite the storm inside him. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”
Kikuchi hummed, clearly amused. “Oh? So you’re still holding out?”
Nakajima tilted his head slightly, forcing himself to look unimpressed despite how fast his heart was beating. “Of course.”
Kikuchi exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you,” Nakajima said smoothly, finally finding the strength to pull away—just a little. But Kikuchi didn’t let him go far.
Before Nakajima could move completely, Kikuchi’s fingers curled around his wrist again, firm but not forceful. Nakajima froze.
“This game of ours…” Kikuchi started, his voice quieter now. “How long are we gonna keep playing it?”
Nakajima’s breath caught.
This wasn’t the usual teasing.
This wasn’t Kikuchi trying to win.
This was real.
Nakajima forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “As long as it takes.”
Kikuchi studied him for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, slowly, a small smirk returned to his lips—but it wasn’t cocky this time. It was almost… fond.
“Alright, Nakajima,” Kikuchi murmured, letting his grip loosen. “Let’s see how long you last.”
And just like that, he let go, stepping back completely.
Nakajima blinked, his body instinctively missing the warmth. He hated how empty the space between them suddenly felt.
Kikuchi stretched, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m heading home. Don’t miss me too much.”
Nakajima rolled his eyes. “In your dreams.”
Kikuchi laughed, giving him one last lingering glance before walking away.
The moment he was gone, Nakajima let out a shaky breath.
He had survived. Barely.
But as he touched his wrist—where Kikuchi had held him—he realized something terrifying.
For the first time in his life…
Nakajima wasn’t sure if he wanted to win.
Nakajima didn’t sleep that night.
He told himself it was because of work, because his schedule was packed, because he had too much on his mind.
But he knew the truth.
Kikuchi.
The way he had looked at him before leaving. The way his fingers had lingered on Nakajima’s wrist. The way his voice had softened just enough to make it feel like something more than a game.
Nakajima was slipping.
He had thought he could outlast Kikuchi, thought he could drag this out until Kikuchi finally cracked first. But now, he wasn’t so sure.
Because every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was how easy it would have been to just… give in.
Round Five: Dangerous Territory
The next day, Nakajima walked into rehearsal determined to regain control.
But the moment he saw Kikuchi, lounging on the couch like he owned the place, arms stretched over the backrest, legs spread out comfortably—Nakajima knew he was in trouble.
Kikuchi looked up, immediately catching Nakajima’s stare. And he smirked.
Like he knew.
Like he knew.
Nakajima clicked his tongue and looked away, pretending to check his phone. “You’re early.”
Kikuchi shrugged, stretching lazily. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Nakajima’s fingers tensed around his phone. He didn’t like how much he related to that.
“Thinking about me?” Nakajima asked, forcing his usual cocky tone.
Kikuchi grinned. “You wish.”
But there was something in his eyes—something teasing, yes, but also knowing.
And that was dangerous.
Nakajima wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up this act.
Round Six: The Weakest Link
The real breaking point came later that night.
The others had gone home again, leaving just the two of them in the dressing room.
Kikuchi was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch, scrolling through his phone. Nakajima was sitting nearby, towel draped around his neck, pretending to be focused on his own reflection in the mirror.
The silence was… comfortable.
That was the problem.
Their rivalry had always been loud—filled with challenges, teasing, endless one-ups. But now, with just the two of them, in this quiet moment where neither was trying to win… it felt different.
Kikuchi sighed, tilting his head back to look at Nakajima. “Hey.”
Nakajima glanced at him. “What?”
Kikuchi’s expression was unreadable. “What if we just…” He trailed off, exhaling slowly. “Nevermind.”
Nakajima frowned, turning to face him fully. “What?”
Kikuchi shook his head, a small, almost self-deprecating smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. Just thinking about how stupid this bet is.”
Nakajima swallowed.
Because yeah. It was stupid.
A game neither of them wanted to lose. A battle that wasn’t really a battle anymore.
He didn’t know who moved first.
All he knew was that, suddenly, the space between them was gone.
Kikuchi was close—so close Nakajima could see every detail of his expression, every flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
And then—
A whisper.
“Do you want to stop playing?”
Nakajima’s breath hitched.
Because Kikuchi wasn’t smirking anymore.
He was just… waiting.
Waiting for Nakajima to make a move.
Nakajima’s heart was pounding. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He should walk away. He should say something witty and turn this into just another round.
But he didn’t.
Instead, for the first time in their entire history, Nakajima let himself stop thinking.
And he kissed him.
Not to win. Not to prove a point.
Just because he wanted to.
Kikuchi inhaled sharply against his lips, like he hadn’t expected Nakajima to actually do it. But then he was kissing back, hands moving to Nakajima’s waist, fingers curling into his shirt.
It wasn’t desperate like the first time.
It was slow. Intentional.
Like they were both making a choice.
Like they were finally admitting what this had been about all along.
When they pulled apart, Nakajima could barely breathe.
Kikuchi chuckled, voice hoarse. “So… does this mean I win?”
Nakajima groaned, dropping his forehead against Kikuchi’s shoulder. “Shut up.”
Kikuchi just laughed, arms wrapping around Nakajima’s back, pulling him in like he wasn’t planning on letting go.
And for once, Nakajima didn’t mind losing.
Nakajima wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that—his forehead pressed against Kikuchi’s shoulder, Kikuchi’s arms still loosely wrapped around him.
Long enough for his heart rate to slow.
Long enough for reality to catch up.
He had kissed Kikuchi. Again.
And this time, it hadn’t been impulsive. It hadn’t been out of frustration, or to prove a point. It had been real.
Which meant—
Nakajima groaned, lifting his head just enough to glare at Kikuchi. “I hate you.”
Kikuchi smirked, fingers idly tracing circles against Nakajima’s back. “You kissed me first.”
Nakajima scowled, but he didn’t move away. “…Shut up.”
Kikuchi chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. But his grip on Nakajima tightened, just slightly, like he wasn’t as confident as he was pretending to be.
Nakajima exhaled, feeling something dangerously close to fondness creep into his chest. “So what now?”
Kikuchi leaned back, studying him for a moment before smirking again. “You tell me, loser.”
Nakajima immediately shoved him. “I swear—”
Kikuchi burst into laughter, catching himself before he fell back. “Relax, Nakajima. It’s just a joke.”
Nakajima rolled his eyes. “It’s not a joke. This whole time, you—” He paused, searching for the right words. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Kikuchi’s smirk softened. “Of course I knew.”
Nakajima stiffened.
Kikuchi tilted his head, like he was considering how much to say. Then he sighed. “Nakajima, we’ve been playing this game for years. But I stopped wanting to win a long time ago.”
Nakajima blinked. “…Then why didn’t you say anything?”
Kikuchi huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Because you never would have admitted it first. And, honestly? I liked watching you try to fight it.”
Nakajima groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”
Kikuchi grinned. “You love that about me.”
Nakajima froze.
Kikuchi did too.
The words had come out too easily, too naturally, like Kikuchi had forgotten that this was still dangerous territory. That they were still toeing the line between competition and something else entirely.
Nakajima swallowed, forcing himself to meet Kikuchi’s gaze. “Do I?”
Kikuchi’s smirk faltered.
For the first time since they started this ridiculous game, he looked unsteady.
Nakajima wasn’t sure what made him do it—maybe it was the way Kikuchi was looking at him, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t want to fight this anymore.
Either way, he found himself reaching out, fingers curling into the front of Kikuchi’s shirt.
Pulling him in again.
This time, the kiss was slower. Less of a battle, more of an acceptance.
Kikuchi sighed into it, like he had been waiting for this, for longer than he wanted to admit.
And Nakajima… Nakajima let himself stop thinking.
For once, he didn’t care about winning.
Because, somehow, losing had never felt so good.
Final Round: No More Games.
Nakajima pulled away first, but only just.
Kikuchi’s hands were still on his waist, like he wasn’t ready to let go. “So…” he murmured, voice lower than usual. “Now what?”
Nakajima exhaled, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Guess we’ll see.”
Kikuchi chuckled. “Still making me wait?”
Nakajima hummed, brushing his thumb against Kikuchi’s collarbone absentmindedly. “I do like to keep things interesting.”
Kikuchi smirked, but there was something warmer in his gaze now. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
A pause.
Then—
“But just so we’re clear…” Kikuchi leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “This does mean I won.”
Nakajima groaned. “Unbelievable.”
Kikuchi laughed, finally—finally—pulling him back in.
And this time, Nakajima let himself fall.
Game Over.
Winner: Both.
The End.
