The Loop

Michiko kept telling herself that nothing was different. Yet, the conversation with Ji in that hallway lasted in her mind. It had been raw, honest, and it left her feeling conflicted. Was it just a moment of weakness? She was emotionally drained and vulnerable, but part of her couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted.

It didn't mean anything.

She repeated it to herself like a mantra, trying to erase the sincerity in Ji's eyes, the way they'd looked at her as though they saw past every constructed wall.

She wasn't going to spiral.

But two days later, fate intervened.

Grocery store. Tuesday evening, just before closing. It was meant to be a quick trip to pick up sesame oil and a few items Fumi had texted her to grab. No lurking, no complications. Her hand reached for a bottle just as another hand grazed hers.

Ji.

They stood beside her in a white baggy shirt tucked loosely into slim back pants with a light blue long sleeve button up wrapped around their waist. Their nails were painted a rich violet and a simple chain rested just above their collarbone. Their hair was loosely pinned up, a few strands falling perfectly around their face.

They looked undeniably and effortlessly genderless.

It was the kind of look that would make any stranger assume things.

It was also exactly the illusion that kept Michiko's mind twisted into knots.

Ji didn't flinch or pull away. "Didn't take you for a cook," they spoke quietly, eyes fixed calmly on the shelf.

"I'm not," Michiko replied flatly, grabbing the bottle a little too quickly. "It's for someone else."

Ji finally looked her way, eyebrows subtly raised. "Someone important?" Their tone held a playful edge, but beneath it lay an unmistakable line of jealousy.

Michiko felt it instantly. The static charge between them.

She refused to acknowledge it. Without another word, she turned sharply and walked away, heart thundering in her chest, face heated from Ji's observation. Her fingers tightened around the basket handle as she fled to another aisle, desperate to escape the sensation of Ji's touch still remaining on her skin.

"It meant nothing," she reminded herself. "Just coincidence."

Then Thursday evening arrived.

She'd stayed late editing in the studio, exhausted and unfocused. She barely noticed the warmth of spring air cooling as evening approached, cardigan left open, hair braided loosely over her shoulder. The crowded train platform buzzed with life, and she slipped hurriedly into the nearest car just as the doors slid shut.

Of course, Ji was there.

Across the car, leaning casually against the wall, looking out the window with earbuds in place. Hair down, neatly tucked behind one ear, wearing a muted gray blouse and delicate silver rings. Their painted nails shone faintly under the overhead lights.

For a heartbeat, Michiko considered pretending she hadn't seen them. But Ji's gaze flicked up, catching hers immediately, lips quirking into a small, knowing smirk.

Her stomach twisted, equal parts irritation and intrigue. She approached slowly, forcing herself to appear indifferent. "I should start charging you for stalking me."

Ji removed one earbud calmly. "I was here first."

"That's what all creeps say."

"You're projecting." Ji's voice was softly amused, eyes locked onto hers.

Neither spoke again, the silence between them oddly comfortable as they stood shoulder to shoulder, swaying with the movement of the train until her stop arrived.

Ji didn't follow.

They didn't need to.

Later that night, Michiko's phone vibrated, illuminating the darkened living room.

[Fumi]:

You keep circling the fire.

Michiko stared blankly at the message, thumb hovering uncertainty over the keyboard. Instead of responding, she reached for a glass of wine. Then another. Eventually, something stronger.

Curled up on her couch, glass in hand, her thoughts spun restlessly. Her phone sat nearby, temptation humming quietly beneath its darkened screen.

Without allowing herself to think, she picked it up, opened Ji's contact, and typed:

[Michiko]:

Wanna see who caves first?

She didn't re-read it, didn't hesitate, yet the moment she pressed send, a wave of doubt crashed over her, causing her to toss the phone away as if it were on fire. Michiko flopped back, wine glass resting against her stomach, her eyes glued to the ceiling. 

She tried to convince herself she wasn't waiting for a response. But the quickening of her pulse betrayed her inner turmoil.