Chapter 14

The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence in room as he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. Behind him, Meg sprawled across the rumpled sheets, her honey-blonde hair splayed over the pillow like golden silk. She exhaled a satisfied sigh, stretching lazily, her bare skin gleaming under the faint light.

Meg was effortlessly striking—sharp features framed by waves of golden hair, hazel eyes that always seemed to hold a challenge, and a lean, toned body that she knew how to carry with confidence. She was the type who took what she wanted, and for her, this arrangement was perfect. No strings, no emotions—just something physical to take the edge off.

"That was fun," she murmured, her voice low and sultry as she pushed herself up on one elbow. Her lips curled into a teasing smirk as she let her gaze roam over Hen's back. "Although you're quiet as usual. What, am I wearing you out already?"

Hen didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the scuffed floorboards, his mind elsewhere, as if Meg wasn't even in the room. The stillness of the moment stretched, the faint hum of the air conditioner growing louder. Finally, he gave a half-hearted chuckle, the sound hollow. "Something like that."

Meg rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the mattress, her frustration masked with a playful tone. "Don't tell me you're getting soft, Takawara. I thought you were tougher than that."

Hen said nothing, his jaw tightening. He grabbed his jeans off the floor, pulling them on with a practiced ease. Meg watched him with a faint look of irritation, propped up on one elbow again, the sheet slipping to reveal more of her bare skin. "What's your deal tonight?" she asked, her sharp gaze fixed on him. "You've been weird the whole time."

Hen paused, buttoning his jeans, but didn't turn around. "It's nothing," he muttered, his tone clipped.

Meg scoffed, sitting up fully now, her hair falling over one shoulder. "Bullshit. You're detached. Like you're already gone."

Hen glanced over his shoulder, finally meeting her gaze. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?" he replied, his voice cool. It wasn't cruel, but it stung all the same.

Meg blinked, her smirk faltering just slightly before she recovered. "Right," she said, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. "You're such a charmer, Hen. Lucky me."

Hen tugged his shirt on, his expression unreadable. He didn't bother to respond, grabbing his phone and keys from the nightstand. "I'll catch you around," he muttered over his shoulder, already making his way toward the door.

"Yeah, sure," Meg said, flopping back onto the mattress with an exasperated sigh. "Don't forget to call next time you're feeling lonely."

The night air was crisp as Hen stepped outside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the hood of his S14. The engine was cool now, the car silent—a stark contrast to the noise in his head.

He stared up at the dark sky, his mind swirling. He didn't know what he was trying to prove with Meg or anyone else he'd been with recently. It wasn't supposed to feel like this—so empty, so disconnected. She'd said he was detached, and she wasn't wrong. He'd gone through the motions, but nothing about it felt real. Nothing about them felt real.

His thoughts strayed—unwanted and relentless—to Hisashi. Her sharp eyes, her quick wit, the way she could light up a room or piss him off in the same breath. She was nothing like Meg, or anyone else. There was no pretense with her, no shallow conversations or empty gestures. She was chaos and confidence rolled into one, and it had gotten under his skin more than he cared to admit.

"Fuck," Hen muttered to himself, rubbing at the back of his neck.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Hookups were supposed to clear his head, not fill it with more noise. But all he could think about was how different she was. How Hisashi had a way of making him feel alive even when she was pissing him off, and how everything else—everyone else—felt like dead air by comparison.

Hen sighed and climbed into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly as if trying to ground himself. He fired up the engine, the familiar growl filling the silence, and pulled away from the curb, his thoughts still tangled up in things he didn't want to admit.

The days stretched on with an uncomfortable silence from Hisashi. Her absence from the group meetings was glaring, especially for someone who had quickly become a pivotal presence within the team. The once-lively dynamic felt noticeably quieter, leaving Alexander, the ever-watchful second-in-command, with a gnawing sense of unease.

Her curt reply to his message—something about being busy with work—did little to assuage his concerns. The tone was far too vague, too detached, for someone who had seemed so invested just days ago. Alexander wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but the growing tension between Hisashi and Hen Akoto was impossible to ignore.

In contrast, Hen was a bundle of frustration and guilt, grappling with the possibility that his actions might have driven her away. He replayed their interactions in his mind, dissecting every word, every glance, every moment. He wasn't used to second-guessing himself, but Hisashi had a way of throwing him off balance.

Alexander leaned against the edge of the desk, his phone in hand, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Hen. "So, let me get this straight. You, the great Hen Akoto, might've just scared off a potential team member because you couldn't keep your personal feelings in check?"

Hen groaned, running a hand through his unruly red hair as he slouched in his chair. "She was interrogating me about social interactions," he muttered defensively, though the words felt hollow even to him.

"Interrogating?" Alexander repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. "You make it sound like she was holding you at gunpoint."

Hen floundered, his hands gesturing as if trying to grasp the right words. "It wasn't like that. She was genuinely curious, and I—well, I just answered."

"Right," Alexander drawled, his eyes narrowing. "And answering involved kissing her?"

"It just happened!" Hen shot back, his voice tinged with exasperation. "She leaned in, and then I leaned in—it wasn't premeditated."

Alexander sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as though Hen were a wayward child in need of guidance. "Hen, your instincts always seem to lead you straight into chaos. You're like a moth to a flame—except the flame is women, and you're terrible at not getting burned."

"She's different, Alex," Hen said suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His gaze dropped to the floor as if admitting it out loud made it more real. "She's not like the others."

Alexander raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing as he considered Hen's words. "So, what you're saying is, she's got you thinking past your usual 'fun for the night' routine?"

Hen groaned again, slumping further in his seat. "I don't know. Maybe. She's in my head, Alex, and I don't know what to do about it."

"Well, step one is probably not freaking her out with your overly direct approach," Alexander said with a smirk. "Step two? Maybe give her some space. Let her come back to the group on her own terms."

Hen sighed, the weight of Alexander's words settling on his shoulders. "Easier said than done."

"Of course, it is," Alexander replied, clapping a hand on Hen's shoulder. "But if she's as different as you say she is, then maybe she's worth stepping out of your comfort zone for."

Hen didn't respond immediately, his thoughts still tangled with the memory of her, the way she'd looked at him, the way she'd spoken with such fire and honesty. For once, he didn't have a plan. But for her, he was willing to figure it out.

As Alexander stood and headed for the door, he glanced back with a teasing grin. "Oh, and Hen? Try not to scare her off again. We need her talent as much as you apparently need her attention."

Hen could only shake his head, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I'll try," he muttered, more to himself than to Alexander. "I'll try."