NOVEL WEB Chapter 4: Chapter 3
The campus quad sprawled out in a messy patchwork of damp grass and cracked pavement, the late February air sharp and cold, tugging at Kaito Nakamura's hoodie as he shuffled beside Aiko. The past week had melted into a hazy, syrupy dream he couldn't shake—her voice, her laugh, her presence stuck in his head like a melody he'd never mute. His sneakers scraped the path, glasses fogging from his uneven breaths, and he jammed his hands into his pockets—palms clammy, nails chewed to ragged stubs—to stop himself from reaching for her right there.
Aiko skipped ahead, her dark hair bouncing in a ponytail, glinting in the watery sunlight like spilled ink. Her pink sweater clung to her curves, skirt swaying above her knees, red nails flashing as she waved at some chatterboxes across the quad. Kaito trailed her like a lost pup, his laptop bag thumping his hip, heart pounding so hard he thought it might crack a rib. She'd texted him that morning—"Meet me @ 2, nerd xo"—and he'd bolted from his dorm, unwashed and hollow from skipping breakfast, too jittery to care.
"Hey, slowpoke!" she called, twirling to face him, her grin bright and cutting, slicing through the dull day. She grabbed his arm—soft fingers sinking into his sleeve—and pulled him along, her heat bleeding through the fabric, sending a shiver down his spine. "Come on, I'm starving—let's grab something." Her voice was honey, coating him, and he nodded, dazed and mute, letting her steer him toward the food carts huddled near the lecture halls.
They paused at a greasy stall, the air heavy with sizzling oil and soy sauce. She ordered takoyaki—six doughy balls skewered on sticks—and he dug coins from his pocket, the last scraps of cash he'd scraped together, thrusting them at the vendor before she could reach for her wallet. "I've got it," he rasped, voice wobbling, and she turned those wide doe eyes on him, lips parting in a soft "Oh" that twisted his stomach into knots.
"You're too sweet, Kaito," she purred, snagging a stick and blowing on it—lips pursed, glossy and tempting, steam curling up. She held it out, nudging it toward his mouth. "Here, share with me." His brain stalled—she's feeding me, oh god—and he leaned in, awkward, taking a bite. The hot dough scalded his tongue, octopus chewy and briny, but he barely registered it—just her giggle as she popped the rest in her mouth, licking sauce off her fingers slow and teasing, his pulse spiking hard.
They wandered after that, her nibbling snacks he paid for—Pocky, a soda, some squishy mochi—crumbs dusting her lips as she fed him bites, her fingers grazing his mouth, sticky and warm. Each touch sparked through him, his chest swelling, thoughts spinning wild: She's mine, she's really mine, I'm the luckiest guy alive. He couldn't mess this up—couldn't let her slip through his fingers, not when she was this close, this perfect.
Days blurred into a sticky-sweet haze—moments he clung to like a lifeline. One afternoon, they lounged on a bench by the campus pond, the water shimmering under a pale sun. She ripped open a bag of chips—salt and vinegar, sharp enough to sting—and tossed one at him, laughing when it pinged off his glasses. "You're such a klutz," she teased, scooting closer, her knee pressing his thigh, her scent—vanilla, sweat, a whisper of something intimate—flooding his senses. He grinned, shy and dopey, crunching a chip, vowing silently: I'll be perfect for her, won't ruin this, won't lose her.
Another night, they hit the dorm lounge—stained carpet, flickering TV, a few slackers gaming in the corner. She'd dragged him there for some sappy romance movie, sprawling on a couch with her legs draped over his lap, her skirt riding up to flash a glimpse of black panties he tried not to ogle. The flick was pure mush—overwrought kisses, corny lines—but she sighed at the tender bits, her hand slipping into his halfway through, fingers threading tight. "This is us," she murmured, smirking, and his heart burst, a rush of heat pooling low. He squeezed back, shaky and thrilled, thinking: She's holding me, she's choosing me, I'll do anything to keep her.
Then it went loud. Midweek, strolling past the science building, her arm hooked through his, she stopped in the quad—packed with students, jocks tossing a ball, girls chattering on benches—and grabbed his hand. Her fingers laced with his, bold and open, right in front of everyone. Heads swiveled, whispers buzzing—"Aiko with that geek?" "No way, really?"—and Kaito's chest puffed up, a goofy grin splitting his face. She squeezed his hand, swinging it playfully, her laugh ringing out, and he felt invincible—on top of the world, her king, untouchable.
Rumors spread like wildfire—by the next day, the cafeteria hummed with it: Aiko Tanaka's dating that scrawny nerd, what's the deal? Guys shot him dirty looks, jealous slugs who'd ignored him before, and girls murmured, sizing him up like he'd sprouted a new charm overnight. His ego soared, a warm glow in his gut—They see me now, I'm hers, I'm somebody. He overheard a meathead grumble, "She's slumming it," and smirked inside: Slum or not, she's mine, deal with it.
He needed to give her something—lock this down, prove he deserved her. That Friday, he skipped lunch, scraped his last yen together, and hit a dingy trinket shop off-campus. His hands trembled as he rummaged through bins—keychains, pins, cheap junk—until he spotted it: a tiny white plastic cat, bell dangling, cute as anything. She loved cats—had gushed over one in the quad once, calling it "adorable"—and this was it, small but hers. He gripped it, palms slick, terrified he'd botch it but aching to see her light up.
They met that night—her dorm lounge, air thick with popcorn and her scent, her stretched out on a couch in a cropped tee and shorts, legs bare and endless. He perched beside her, heart hammering, the keychain a hot coal in his pocket. "Hey," he mumbled, voice shaky, nudging his glasses up. "I, uh… got you something." He pulled it out, fumbling, and held it up—small, trembling, braced for her to scoff.
Her eyes popped wide, a gasp slipping free—high and girly, pure delight. "Oh my gosh, Kaito!" She snatched it, bell jingling, and squealed—loud, unrestrained, a sound that cracked his chest open. "It's so cute! You got this for me?" She clutched it to her heart, curves bouncing under the thin shirt, and he nodded, face blazing, a rush hitting him low.
"Y-yeah, thought you'd like it," he croaked, throat tight, and she lunged—arms wrapping his neck, hugging him close, her body crashing into his. "You're the best," she breathed, lips brushing his cheek—soft, damp, a kiss that stopped his world. He froze, breath catching, her heat soaking him, her chest pressed against his ribs, her hair grazing his jaw. She kissed me, she actually kissed me.
She pulled back, beaming, clipping the keychain to her bag right there—jingling it like a prize. "I love it," she said, eyes sparkling, and nestled into him, head on his shoulder, cuddling close as the movie droned on. His arm hesitated, scared to ruin it, then settled around her—clumsy, quivering, perfect. She sighed, happy, and he dissolved, thoughts a fervent vow: I'll be the best boyfriend, won't mess this up, she's mine, I'd kill to keep this.
The rumors grew—"They're legit, saw her kiss him," "Nerd's way out of his league"—and Kaito drank it in, pride surging, strutting campus with her hand in his. Each date stacked the sweetness—walks with her chuckling at his lame jokes, snacks shared with her licking his fingers clean, movie nights with her tucked against him like she was made for it. He was terrified—every moment a tightrope, dreading the fall—but the stakes anchored him: She's my everything, my goddess, I'll be perfect, won't let her go.
The honeymoon phase swallowed him—light, gooey, saccharine—and he sank into it, grinning like a lovesick fool, her bell chiming every time she swung her bag.