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Langa should have known better.
That thought floated somewhere distant—muted, like everything else in this room.
The air in Adam’s bedroom felt heavy. Perfumed. Intentional. Every surface gleamed like it had been polished for an audience of one.
Him.
Langa stood barefoot on the cool floor, fingers curling slightly against the marble. His hoodie was gone. Pants gone. His board was gone. All that remained was him—dressed down to nothing but his underwear, skin prickling under the weight of Adam’s attention. And he could guess what came next. How had he let himself get pulled into this?
Adam circled him slowly, like he was inspecting something rare.
“No one has ever suited the role quite like you,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth. “My Eve.”
Langa’s brows knit faintly. “I didn’t agree to that.”
Adam only smiled wider. “You came here.”
That was… technically true.
Langa exhaled, slow, steady—but something in his chest felt off-balance. This wasn’t a race. There was no start line, no finish. No gravity to lean into. Just Adam’s gaze, pressing in from all sides. This was… well, he’d thought about it, of course. But with Reki. Not as some bizarre character in Adam’s fantasy world.
From outside the room, there was nothing.
Because Tadashi was standing guard.
Of course he was.
Adam stepped closer. Fingers brushed Langa’s shoulder—light, but claiming.
“You don’t need anyone else here. No noise. No distractions. Just us.”
Langa didn’t flinch—but he didn’t lean in either.
Adam’s hand didn’t withdraw. Instead, his fingers slid from Langa’s shoulder to his jaw, slow enough that Langa felt every point of contact. Then Adam tilted his chin upward—precise, deliberate—like he was adjusting the angle of something on display. The touch wasn’t harsh, but it lingered far too long, his thumb pressing lightly beneath the jaw as if testing how easily he could guide him.
It wasn’t affection.
It wasn’t admiration.
It was inspection.
Langa’s breath caught—not from fear, but from the sudden, sharp wrongness of it. Adam’s hand was warm, steady, confident, but it didn’t make him feel grounded. It made him feel small. Off-balance. Like he was being fitted into a role he never agreed to play.
Adam hummed, pleased with the stillness he misread as surrender.
Then, with a slow, ceremonial motion, he reached up and unfastened his mask.
The lacquered surface scraped faintly as he lifted it away, revealing Ainosuke’s bare expression beneath—sharp, hungry for control, eyes bright with something that made Langa’s stomach twist.
Then Adam’s fingers drifted to the clasp of his jacket.
He shrugged it off in one fluid motion.
The garment slid from his shoulders and fell soundlessly onto the polished floor. Underneath, he wore a fitted shirt—crisp, immaculate. Too immaculate. Too intentional. He unbuttoned the cuffs with the same slow precision, rolling the sleeves back as if preparing for a performance only he understood.
Langa’s breath hitched.
Not because the gesture was intimate.
Because it was calculated.
Adam wasn’t undressing for closeness.
He was undressing for control.
“You see?” Adam said softly. “This is the real me. The one worthy of your attention.”
He stepped closer again—closer than before—shirt open at the throat, mask gone, eyes unshielded and sharp. He lifted Langa’s chin once more, thumb pressing lightly beneath the jaw, testing how easily Langa would follow the motion.
Langa didn’t.
He held still, but not in the way Adam expected. Not frozen. Not compliant.
Just… done.
This wasn’t what he wanted.
This wasn’t who he wanted.
If he wanted anyone—if he wanted anything—it was Reki. Reki’s warmth, Reki’s laugh, Reki’s chaotic sincerity. Reki, who never hid behind masks or performances. Reki, who would never make him feel small.
Adam’s fingers tightened slightly, misreading the stillness as surrender.
Langa’s voice came out quiet, but steady.
“I skate better with people watching.”
Adam’s smile sharpened. “Then I’ll watch you.”
A beat.
Then—
CRASH.
The doorframe didn’t just shudder—it buckled, wood splintering outward as something slammed into it from the other side.
Tadashi’s voice cracked through the hall:
“Stop—! You can’t—!”
Another impact.
A grunt.
A thud.
Then the doors exploded inward, ripped off balance by sheer force.
Reki Kyan stood in the wreckage.
Hair wild.
Chest heaving.
Skateboard gripped like a weapon.
And Tadashi—Tadashi—was on one knee behind him, clutching his ribs, breath knocked out of him.
Reki had already taken him down.
He didn’t even look at Adam yet.
He stared at Tadashi, eyes blazing, daring him to try again.
Daring him to stand.
Daring him to breathe wrong.
Tadashi froze.
Only then did Reki lift his gaze to Adam.
“LANGA—!”
Everything snapped.
Langa’s head turned instantly. “Reki—”
Adam opened his mouth—
Reki moved.
He crossed the room in a blur, board raised high—
—and CRACK.
The hit landed with brutal precision, the sound ringing through the room like a snapped bone.
Adam staggered, hand flying to his head.
Reki planted himself between them, stance wide, board still raised.
“Don’t touch him,” he growled.
Not shouted.
Growled.
A sound pulled from somewhere deep and unfiltered.
Langa felt something in his chest break open.
Reki reached back—blind, certain—and caught Langa’s wrist.
His grip was tight. Real.
“C’mon,” he said. “Get your clothes. We’re leaving.”
No question.
Langa looked at him—really looked.
At the scuffed board. The wild hair. The sheer, reckless certainty that had broken through a locked door, taken down Tadashi, and struck Adam without hesitation.
And something in him settled.
“…Yeah,” he said softly. “Okay.”
He dressed quickly. Reki never let go.
Adam straightened slowly behind them, fury sharpening his expression—but he didn’t move fast enough.
Not this time.
Tadashi stood in the doorway, tense, caught—but he didn’t stop them.
Reki pulled Langa past him, down the fractured hallway, out of the suffocating stillness of that room.
Only when they hit open air did Langa finally breathe—deep, clean, real.
Reki still hadn’t let go.
“…You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, but still tight.
Langa nodded. “Yeah.”
A beat.
“Now I am.”
Behind them, somewhere distant, Adam laughed.
But it didn’t reach them.
—
Sirens cut through the night—sharp, insistent, impossible to ignore.
Red and blue lights spilled across the pristine exterior, washing over marble and glass, turning something untouchable into something exposed.
Inside, the atmosphere had shifted. The performance was over. Footsteps echoed down the halls—measured, unafraid. Voices followed, low and authoritative.
At the center of it all stood Adam—
No.
Ainosuke Shindo.
Mask gone. Shirt undone. Persona fractured.
Kiriko Kamata stepped forward, badge flashing, eyes sweeping over the scene with clinical precision. Her gaze flicked once—just once—to Ainosuke’s bare chest, his shirt discarded on the floor, sleeves rolled, mask abandoned.
Her jaw tightened.
“You’re being arrested shirtless in your own hallway,” she said flatly. “Don’t pretend you’re in control.”
Ainosuke’s smile faltered—just a hair.
“Multiple felonious violations,” she continued. “Illegal races. Abuse of authority. Endangerment of minors. You can posture all you want, Shindo, but you’re done.”
Ainosuke exhaled slowly, irritation flashing across his features as she snapped the cuffs onto his bare wrists.
The sound was clean. Final.
—
They ended up somewhere familiar.
Concrete underfoot. Open space. The faint echo of wheels in the distance.
Reki sat on the edge of a low ramp, board across his knees, fingers tapping restlessly.
Langa sat beside him, shoulders finally loose.
For a while, neither spoke.
“…Thanks for getting me outta there,” Langa said.
Reki shrugged, too quickly. “No problem.”
Silence settled—lighter now.
Reki inhaled, held it, let it out slow.
“But—” he started, then stopped.
Langa glanced at him.
Reki scrubbed the back of his neck. “You should know… where you’re concerned…”
He hesitated—words fighting him.
“…I’m not really willing to share.”
Langa blinked. “…Share?”
“Yeah. Like—him. Or anyone like that.” Reki gestured vaguely. “I’m not… okay with it.”
A beat.
“I don’t want to be.”
Langa watched him.
Really watched him.
Something warm rose in his chest—something he almost said.
Almost.
Reki, I want—
He felt the words press against the back of his teeth.
Reki looked at him then—really looked—and his eyes widened just a fraction.
“You were gonna say something,” he said quietly.
Langa froze.
Their eyes met.
A pointed look.
Sharp.
Charged.
Too honest.
Then—almost at the same time—they both looked away.
Reki cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.
Langa exhaled, gaze drifting toward the ramp.
The moment hung between them—unspoken, undeniable.
Then Reki hopped to his feet, forcing brightness back into his voice.
“Race you to the bowl.”
Langa stood too, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
“Okay.”
And just like that—
they moved.